#kuroshitsuji smut

[dark-konohagakure2]

Since your writing for black butler now how about sebastian x younger naïve reader maybe like ciels older sister

tw: dub/noncon, age difference, corruption, abuse of power, size difference, risky sex, virginity loss, blackmail, period typical misogyny

All characters depicted are 18+

Sebastian, despite not being human, isn't immune to sexual desire entirety. While demons don't experience attraction in the same way that humans do, they still feel it, and Sebastian's primary sexual attraction is towards those whom he can take advantage of.

While the terms of his Faustian contract prevents him from doing anything to harm his young master Ciel, there is a loophole, he technically wouldn't be harming or betraying the Earl by taking advantage of his elder sister, so that is exactly what Sebastian plans to do.

It isn't too hard, Sebastian has nearly unlimited access to his young lady given how busy Ciel is and how dimwitted the other servants are, and she's a naive and trusting young woman who's oblivious to Sebastian's true nature, so he can take advantage of her as easily as he can breathe.

He's tasked with assisting her in getting dressed every morning, so Sebastian is very accustomed to seeing her naked body, and he very much likes what he sees. It's a morning like any other when the demon butler finally decides to strike. He'll be helping her get undressed, but then he'll 'accidently' forget to give her a dress, but she has nothing to fear, because Sebastian has a solution to this mundane little problem.

"Ah, my apologies My Lady, but it seems I've forgotten to bring you your clothes for the day. Well, no matter, you can simply assist me with finding you the correct one in the closet..."

As soon as the closet door is shut behind them, Sebastian makes his move. He'll firmly force his gloved hand over her mouth, gently shushing her as she spreads her now trembling legs apart, testing her wetness with his skilled fingers. The naive young lady doesn't fully understand what he's doing, but Sebastian insists that she can trust her dutiful butler.

Despite his appearance as a tall and lean man, Sebastian is a very well endowed demon, so his thick cock will stretch her poor untouched hole to its limits as he bullies it inside of her, but he's an attentive butler, so he'll soothe and shush his young mistress if she's struggling and crying too much, reminding her that denying a man's needs is very unladylike.

Sebastian can just barely keep up his gentlemanly persona when he's balls deep inside of the object of his dark desires, the red color in his eyes glowing and becoming more pronounced as he pounds away at the poor girl, his hand still clamped over the young woman's mouth as he moves in and out of her, hardly able to hold back his primal demonic urge to bite down all the way into her throat.

Sebastian doesn't bother to pull out when he finally climaxes, he's almost certain that a demon can't impregnate a human, and even if he's wrong, she's at childbearing age anyway, so he'd be doing her a favor. When he's finished with her he'll almost instantly assume his butler persona again, but not before giving her some friendly advice.

"Th-There... I must say that felt great, my little lady... Do run along now, and don't speak of this to anyone. We don't want the Young Master to think his dear sister is a strumpet now do we?"

Sebastian's implicit threat seemed to work, as the young Phantomhive keeps her mouth shut about what happened between the two of them in the closet, this pleases the demon greatly, and now he gets to have a new human plaything to use as he sees fit.

[almondmilkcleanser]

𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓐𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓽 ⚰️

■ ` ♡ characters / fandom ; f!reader x undertaker

■ ` ♡ tw ; cumming inside, corruption, praise, manipulation ;MINORS DNI

■ ` ♡ word count ; 2.7k+

■ ` ♡ a/n ; just clearing my drafts! nothing to see here (maybe)

main menu | one-shots menu

“i’ve told you multiple times, dear if you want to satisfy me you have to give all of yourself to me, unrelentlessly and without hesitation. otherwise,” he stifled himself from snickering under his breath. 

“this would all be a grandiose joke. don’t you agree? “

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you were a newcomer at the local mortuary. you’ve studied and apprenticed for months just for this opportunity to present itself in your lap. all the tedious, grueling hours learning anatomy, drawing anatomy, dissecting and dealing with the lecherous eyes of your overseers while you dressed the undead in their wardrobes to send them off into the next life. it was finally worth it. 

you saw everything; kids, adults, the elderly, prostitutes, wives, widows, and even a noble or two.  you waited for the adjustment to be easier, but it didn’t. you just tucked your hair behind your ear, pinched your lips, and devoted your love and care into making sure each of your clients were well-adorned and ready to transition. 

“My, my…” you sighed, braiding the hair of a corpse that laid across your table that afternoon. You just embalmed her and now it was time to let the chemicals sit and dissolve whatever remaining acids were inside. With your magnifying glasses peered down the bridge of your nose, you studied her hair strand by stand. parting the scalp, observing any marks that laid about. and there it was, a large scar splattered across the dome of her scalp. it looked to be… sewn? 

that’s odd you thought. she was not a victim a violence nor were there any records indicating any crimes involving her. 

“just what happened-“ as you leaned closer to examine the craftsman quality suture, you heard footsteps around you. jumping up, you looked around. there was nobdy else here. the owner closed for the night and left you to finish this woman. 

“w-who’s there!?” you barked, eyes wildly dancing across the darkness. there was but a dimly flickering candle on both sides of the body, barely showing much else after her thighs. your heart rate intensified as the footsteps grew louder. confident. paced. 

your knife. where was your knife? turning around, you saw your self-defense blade was moved. shit! your only thought focused on one last option, the blade hidden under your dress. 

“damn these blasted layers. w-whoever you are, show yourself!” you hoisted the hem of your skirt up, revealing a laced garter that tucked a crimson blade in its equally laced sheathe safely against your thigh. you reached for the blade, whisking it in front of you, ready for your mystery assailant. 

the footsteps stopped, only for snickering to replace the sound. you turned your body back and forth, hearing the voice bounce from wall to wall. you couldn’t pinpoint where or who, but it was in this room with you! 

cut the games! you shouted, a quivering tone to your voice. you didn’t sign up for this. you didn’t anticipate your first night alone to end in your demise. you just weren’t going to go out like this!

“show yourself, now!” you demanded. the voice hummed at your sudden assertiveness, visibly amused. 

“I see you’ve met one of my specimens.” specimens? what the hell was this stranger talking about? 

“I don’t know what you mean by specimen, but that’s neither here nor there. i’m just a mortician trying to do my-“ you took a step back, only to collide with a firm, lean chest. as your body tensed and your eyes bulged, with a snickering voice, the stranger lowered himself to your ear with a smile. 

“boo.”

on reflex, you jumped forward, dropping the knife and stumbling over the corpse that still laid across the table.. luckily the corpse didn’t hit the floor, but you did.

the stranger couldn’t hold it any longer. he held his sides and leaned over to let out a boisterous laugh. his long gray locks covered his face but when you turned around to face the odd man, you could see him wiping his eyes fervently. 

“just who-“ the stranger wiped his eyes a few more times before standing upright, a wide smile across his face. 

“why, i’m the owner of this shop. didn’t you do your homework before just signing up to any old job?” now things were getting even more confusing. 

“but-“ you pointed towards the door, your eyebrows furrowed together. “the man-“ the stranger’s lip twitched, stifling another bout of laughter. 

“oh, him? he’s just my cover.” you didn’t know whether to run away or to stay. if what he was saying was true… then he’d be-

“then you’re my-“

in a flash, his humored smile straightened out and curved into a small grin. he tilted his head down at you and a glimpse of his fluorescent green eyes sent shivers down your spine. you swallowed hard, confused and apprehensive to make a move, fearful of his next response. 

“that’s correct. i’m your boss. “

dammit. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you sat across from him atop an empty coffin, fidgeting with a cup of tea offered from him. he sat cross-legged, bemused and beaming with a silent excitement that made you twitch uncomfortably. why was he so.. giddy? this was, presumably, the most depressive job someone can take on and he looked to be absolutely thrilled to be there. 

taking note of his black crypt-keeper getup, you saw an array of lockets hanging from his hand. his hands clenched the locket and your eyes jumped upwards to his face. this time both of his eyes were showing. he brushed his long hair out of the way to get a good look at you, observing you from your face, to your chest, to your legs, down to your shoes. unconsciously adjusting your corset and sleeves, you cleared your throat. 

“so, mr..”

“please, call me undertaker.” he assured you, a balled fist nestled under his chin.

“right. undertaker, sir. I- this must be some kind of mistake. I was interning under an old man named Geoffrey for months. and you never showed up, not once. how do I know you’re really the owner?”

“ah, you see it’s easy to come and go. but it’s also easy to stay under the radar while never leaving.” he smirked. “have you never paid attention to the red coffin that always sat upright during your studies?”

your eyes grew big. you never thought of it till now. your “boss” always told you it was a gifted coffin from the queen and that it would never be sold. but something about it made you consider it in a different light. 

“does it make sense to you now?” he asked. 

silently, you nodded. but then, another thought came to your mind. you’ve invited company to the mortuary after hours. a lover, to be exact. 

“so, you’ve been in that coffin every time?”

his grin spread from ear to ear, like he read your thoughts entirely. 

“every time. and might I add that some of the extracurricular activities you’ve… embarked on, are grounds for immediate termination.” you swallowed hard. “unless-“ 

“unless? please, don’t fire me. i’ve studied for so long for this chance and I don’t want to lose it!” the shame that you’d feel returning home, humiliated and defeated. not only that, but the thought of disappointing your parents who were the only ones who believed in your dream weighed heavy on your shoulders. 

undertaker’s smile grew wider. and wider. and wider. so much, that he started to snicker. you stood there, confused. what was so funny? you looked ahead at your ‘boss’ during his fit of laughter until he calmed himself down. when he did, he cleared his throat, still visibly bemused, and shuffled his hair out of the way. you saw his piercing green eyes again as he looked directly at you, boring a hole into your skin. 

❁ sway with me into oblivion as we watch the nightfall combust into flames. i’ll hold your hand till the abyss consumes us, so when we’re reborn we remember to return to eachother one day. ❁

 Muffled moans escaped your lips, his hands covering your mouth so peculiarly. He smelled of Sandwalwood and rich tobacco, each second passing lacing your ears with the aroma more and more. Your dress was hiked above your hips to gain him more access to you as his hands slipped in your black panty hose. 

Back and forth, he rubbed the outer layer of your plump, bountiful mounds, only quickly grazing against your clIt. One motion, he would scoop your essences from your awakening ravine and with another, he would glisten your love button with your own juices. Tastefully taunting how ready and willing you were. For him. 

“I just couldn’t believe the look on your face, how desperate you looked to keep this job. I simply couldn’t stop myself from laughing in my head.”

You shut your eyes, succumbing to the waves of pleasure that roared through you the more and more he rubbed. Your legs buckled, but he picked you right back up, quickening the pace on your throbbing, aching pleasure pad. 

He focused more on one side, rubbing the rough patch of skin just right, causing you to throw your head back. You were near your peak, you just had to cry out. 

The moisture from your deep breaths dampened his palm but it didn’t stop him. He kept rubbing, and rubbing, and rubbing, until-

“Ohhhh~ What do we have here?” You absolutely wanted to die. What the irony. 

He pulled his hand from your stockings, shaking it dry of your juices. Your face was burning hot! As you stood there, you could see the puddle of your own leakage pooling at the both of your feet. As you continued to look down, you saw his slender hands hold itself in front of you, two fingers pointed at your mouth. 

“wha?”

“Say ‘aaaaah~’” before a proper warning, your fingers were stuffed with the same glistened fingers, tunneling a way down your throat. With your free hand, Undertaker guided it to the crotch of his pants, throwing you completely off at just how long and bulging he actually was. 

One couldn’t tell underneath that ever flowing cape…

His chuckles grew louder, feeling your tongue coat each drop of your own juices on his finger, inch by inch cultivating all saliva in the back of your throat so it can trickle down his wrist.

He grabbed at your best, playfully unbuttoning your blouse till your lacy undergarments were on full display. It didn’t take much for him to slide his hand into your bra, flicking your nipple back and forth to further stimulate you. You were trying to hold your composure, your mind whirling back and forth at the random peaks of pleasure cascading across you from head to toe. 

This stopped being a last-ditch effort to save your job. You needed to be ravaged. Soon. 

Undertaker pushed you forward onto the desk in front of you, hungrily lifting your dress over your waist. 

“Curse these layers.” He sighed to himself. After so much senseless shuffling, he decided upon the next best option: ripping your skirt up to your waist line and parting it down the middle. 

“H-hey!” you barked. This was a year of savings right down the shitter!

“Don’t worry, darling, i’ll have my errands coined in once i’m down. Now-“ He motioned his hand to the hem of your stockings, playfully lining the hem with his long fingernail. One forceful motion towards him, and your pantyhose ripped, splitting down the middle, exposing your glistening cunt to him with no barricade. 

“Stay just like that. Mhm, just like that-“ he loved seeing your beautiful insides. So tight, aromatic, delicious to the taste and poised to the appearance. 

He stroked his bulging mass to attention, a perverse smile spreading wider and wider the more and more he looked at you. He grabbed your hips, positioning himself behind you as you looked ahead in a fluster. You wanted to fight back, but you needed this job. You needed to make your family proud. You needed t-

“Ah! Fuh-!” he stuffed the plump insides inch by inch with his thickness, prodding and poking at your quivering nest. It didn’t take much for you to adjust to him, to latch onto his veined growth with a firm suctioning hold, making Undertaker growl under his breath. 

“Fuck, you’re a tight one. I’m going to enjoy this, teehee~” his cinched his nails into your skin only slightly, slamming his hips back and forth against your flesh. Your bottom was warm to touch the more he pounded away inside of you, but you never flinched. You secretly enjoyed it. Your breasts bouncing up and down even with one of his hands firmly clasped onto one, your bare regions exposed for all the world to see. And your face, your flushed face twisted and contorted to shield the pleasure surging through your body. You pulled in your lips, only to let out a rugged exhale. You shut your eyes, only to roll them to the back of your head. 

You didn’t just like it. You loved it. 

Undertaker released his grasp on your hips and your breast to  pull your arms back, arching you enough so he could join both of your wrists together. He watched your ass slam against his pelvis, the motions of your bottom sending shockwaves across his skin. You looked back at him, eyes low and sweat trickling down the side of your face, begging for more. He took note of your gaze and proceeded to slow down his thrusts, now instead of his quick, hungry pace he slowed down, focusing on the intensity instead of the pace. 

You dropped your head, feeling the euphoric feeling budding in the out of your stomach. You were close. Your insides sloshed like hot soup the more he took care of you. You needed to release. 

“Ah! Undertaker, I- I’m close.” you whined, digging your fingers into his hands as best as you could. 

“So am I, Y/N. So am I~” in a flash, he dropped you down, turned you around and re-entered you in the traditional

missionary position. He used one hand to lift your hips to deepens the depths he wanted to reach inside of you, and you allowed it. You kept your legs open so he could fit inside of you to his max potential, your love nest coating his shaft with your juices. Your honey dripped onto the table, making a slapping noise each time the two of you connected. He leaned over you, his grey locks  building a shadow over you two. Even in the dim lighting underneath him, you saw his eyes. You saw the scar splayed across his face. But he kept his focus on you. 

“Come, my dear. I’m not pulling out. So do as you wish~” you didn’t know what it was about this statement, but you fully let go of the reigns of virtue you held so tightly to your chest. You threw your head back, an animalistic moan escaping your lips. You couldn’t stop, your hips continued to shake and your thighs shook to the point of convulsion. He kept pumping inside of you, the whiteness of your milk mixing with his translucent elixir and coating his dick the more he continued to pound inside of you. 

He pumped a total of three more times before collapsing on top of you, pulling you into a passionate kiss. He didn’t take himself out of you and you didn’t care to force him out either. When he pulled away from you, spittle still connecting you two together as the distance increased, he looked at you a bit more. Shaking his hair out of the way, he glanced down at your quivering, moistened flesh for a few moments before finally focusing his eyes on the most subtle flaw only you knew of. 

“Your belly button is slightly to the right~” you couldn’t figure out what was so hilarious about that, but it didn’t stop Undertaker from gripping his sides and bursting into laughter as his member grew soft inside of you. You put your hands over your face, trying your best not to laugh yourself but also hoping there’s another morgue that  needs another assistant really, really soon. 

end

[sleepingdeath-light]

sebastian michaelis + fem bimbo s/o smut hcs ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (01/09/23)

fandom(s) ; black butler

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; sebastian michaelis

outline ; “would you write sebastian michaelis x bimbo reader? maybe she's smart when doing her duties, but when she knows she can relax she's just a thought-free girl sebastian can use. (maybe their contract mark is over her womb or smth; im 19)”

warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, bimbo!reader, dumbification kink, dom!sebastian, sadist!sebastian, overstimulation, oral sex (male and female receiving), marking kink, slight ownership kink, degradation kink, praise kink, free use kink, vaginal sex, fingering, cream pies, public / semi-public sex acts

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

sebastian michaelis is, above anything else, the perfect butler and is willing to do anything and everything in order to keep his masters safe and satisfied — whether that’s by cleaning and cooking for them or, in the case of your very unusual contract, fucking the thoughts out of them after a pressing day of work

you weren’t stupid by any means — quite the opposite, in fact, as he’s seen you masterfully manipulate peers and inferiors alike with a wit so sharp it could cut glass, and perform the duties assigned to you with such ease that he’d once questioned why you’d even formed a contract with him in the first place — but it was that same intellect that brought you the strife you’d asked him to relieve you of

after all, one can’t overthink or stress about work when their thoughts are drowned out by the feeling of being stretched out on a long, thick cock — if you’re still even able to think after he’s worked your clit so hard with those long fingers of his that you’re seeing stars and squirting so hard you’ve stained his uniform

of course during work hours he tends to you at all times, waiting on you hand and foot: waking you up in the morning with the day’s paper and fresh breakfast in bed, engaging in light banter and productive conversation with you, bringing you freshly ironed clothes suited to the day’s weather, fetching you documents and books for work, and doing other odd jobs related to the upkeep of your home — he is still a servant, after all

but when you’re ready to wind down and want nothing more than to be used and thoughtless — well, then he’s happy to indulge you there too

happy to force you to your knees (or have you lay on your back with your head hanging over the edge of your bed) and shove his cock down your throat — burying his hands in your hair and fucking your face until your cheeks and lips are covered in spit and your mascara is streaming down your face

happy to kneel between your legs as you sit at your desk or in your lounge room, massaging your thighs and waist and stomach as he uses that talented tongue and those long, slender fingers to bring you to climax over and over again — not stopping until you’re limp and gasping and sobbing, until even his eyelashes are damp with your juices, until your fingers are so tightly wound in his hair that it’s even starting to hurt him and your hands are trembling, until he’s had his fill of you

happy to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you until your legs and arms give out beneath you — legs spread as far as they can go whilst his hands roughly paw at your waist and ass and breasts (greedy and harsh and possessive), not stopping until your pussy is spent and dripping with his seed and his teeth marks are imprinted on your shoulder

happy to pick you up and fuck, finger, or lick the thoughts from your mind at any moment — you had given him free reign, after all

happy to sit you on his lap with his dick buried in your cunt, strong grip keeping you in place as he forces you to look at your reflection in the mirror — one hand gripping your chin and making you stare at the point where the two of you become one, stare at your contract mark as it flashes and pulses in time with the pulsing of your inner walls around him, not moving until you’re teary eyed and begging him to please touch you

happy to play with and tease you even in front of others: whispering absolute filth into your ear before walking away completely unaffected, giving you suggestive looks across the room whenever others can’t see him, sliding his hand a bit too far up your thigh (when sat side by side) or low down your back (when walking together) for it to be completely innocent, and even making remarks referencing things he knows you enjoy in the bedroom that to others seem completely innocent

happy to leave an array of marks all over your body as a trail of evidence showing just how much of a good girl you are for him — deep bite marks on your thighs, fingerprint bruises on your hips, scratches along your sides, nips along your throat, and deep hickeys all over your breasts (he’s very generous with how much he claims you and he seems to get off on it even after the fact, whenever he notices them on you during the day when you’re working)

happy to call you pretty and perfect and his ‘good girl’ in the same breath that he mocks you for being ‘desperate’ and ‘needy’ and ‘slutty’ — praising you for your obedience and receptiveness and reactiveness to his touch and voice and yet teasing you for being ‘so wet already’ when he hasn’t even touched you yet, even playfully spanking your clit and chuckling against your throat when you yelped and flinched away from his touch

(he is a demon, after all, so it’s only natural that he’d be at least somewhat sadistic in the bedroom — and you have plenty of bite marks, bruises, and scratches all over your body to prove it)

(and he’s at his roughest when you show off your contract in one way or another — such as when you call him ‘my demon’ or wear something that intentionally shows off your contract mark, which will lead to much more possessive behaviour when you’re alone)

he’s also not at all opposed to fucking or playing with you in public or semi public areas — at most he might suggest finding somewhere a bit more private in order to preserve your reputation amongst your peers, but if you’re insistent then your demon is hardly going to refuse you (just know that he’s not going to go gentle on you just because you decided to proposition him where others might hear or see you, he’s still a demon after all)

but, of course, sebastian is still your loyal servant and once the fun has been had he’s there to take care of you in the aftermath: running you a warm bath, tending to any injuries so they don’t get infected, wiping away all of the blood and cum and saliva without complaint, reassuring and praising you for being so good for him, putting you in fresh bed clothes, and even bringing you some food and water to help you completely recover

you still have work to do and no butler worth his salt would let his mistress risk her career over something so minor

[bugsyfics]

DEFLOWER — S. MICHAELIS

✰ 10: 04 - [virginity kink] ✰

Synopsis: It's your first time and Sebastian is delighted to lend a helping hand

Run time (wc): 489 Rating: R (18+ mdni) ⚠︎ CW: virginity kink, corruption, unprotected sex, creampie, verrry slight dub-con

kinktober '23 m.list

A sacred thing virginity is. Whether or not it is treated as such, since one can think of this subjectively, there’s something to be said about how the very first time opens the door to a myriad of possibilities and electrifies curiosity. 

Perhaps it was because it was in his nature to corrupt, but the idea of taking your innocence lit Sebastian ablaze with sexual desire. He knew you were apprehensive. In fact, you trembled and reached for his pale, slender hands each time his fingers grazed below your belly button. You tensed and he soothed you with warm kisses along your collarbone and down the valley of your breasts, smirking to himself whenever your chest rose suddenly with a hitched breath. Clearly, whatever he was doing was working. Arousal pooled at the entrance of your aching cunt, the aroma reaching Sebastian and driving him wild. 

“I believe you're ready,” Sebastian groaned. This was no question, he was certain, however he looked at you expectantly with glowing eyes. Then with a soft, keen whimper you obliged. 

Sebastian was growing impatient, each moment he went without being balls deep inside you was tortuous. So, he took no time unfurling his erection and swiping a bead of pre cum over your sensitive clit. You mewled and bucked your hips forward chasing the feeling. And finally, you felt it. The tip of his cock stretching past your hymen and entering your sodden cunt with a squelch. 

“Wait–” Your eyebrows furrowed in discomfort. But Sebastian only acknowledged it with a faint hum and rolling of his hips. It wasn’t that he did not care, indubitably he knew that if he stopped now, the next time he began he’d take you in a brutish way. Ungentleman-like, and above all like a beast–the beast he was. 

He gritted his teeth and slowly rocked forward again, then again, until he felt you clench around him and watched your head lull back onto the soft duvet. 

As he continued, your body shook, and you bit your lip staring up at him with blown pupils. This was something he could get used to and the thought made him thrust faster into your fluttering walls. 

“I feel–oh!” you gasped and buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Weird like I might pee.” 

Instead of responding, Sebastian chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours and fucked you deeper, more intimately. The pressure grew and you squirmed underneath him, legs thrown loosely over his waist and panting. This type of yearning was foreign to you. The coil grew tighter and tighter before snapping suddenly, leaving you a moaning mess. 

His cum leaked out of you like sweet vanilla pudding in an eclair, and he licked his lips eagerly. Sebastian was proud, but not yet satisfied. 

“I’m impressed, my love,” Sebastian said, pulling you forward by the plush of your thighs. “You take me so well… how about another go?”

[thistletisle]

Men who whimper when you tease them, sucking on the tip of their cock, he begs for you to make him cum and that he needs it so bad.

You find this quite adorable and finally end up giving him what he wants, slowly, you sink onto his cock while he lets out a moan and grabs your hips.

“F-fuck h-ha…! O-oh my god.. I love you- I love your pussy s-so much..!”

Armin Arlert, KUNIKIDA DOPPO, Atsushi Nakajima, OTHELLO, Yuri Briar, Rimuru Tempest, Giyuu Tomioka, Laios Touden, CHILCHUCK TIMS, Balam Shichiro, Ronald Knox, SANJI. Ranpo Edogawa, Serizawa Katsuya, SIGMA, And your favs <3

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

Master’s Whore

Pairing: Vincent Phantomhive x Fem! Maid! Reader.

Warning: NSFW, Smut, Master x Servant (possible power dynamic), Cheating, Pet Names, Creampie, Unprotected sex (please wrap it and stay safe everyone!), Intercourse (P in V), Breeding kink?

Summary: Vincent fucks his maid just a room over from his entire family.

Word Count: 806.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 1

A/N:

Welcome to Kinktober! My first fic, posted on time. Let's see if I can keep it up for the rest of the month. Hope you like the first edition to Stitched's first Kinktober!I did try to keep this gender neutral in the beginning, but it's a little hard to with smut so you can see when I stopped trying to be GN and just made the reader female. I suppose you can say the reader's gender is still ambiguous despite their female body (and though Vincent calls them 'Princess').I tried to make a McDonald's joke at the end but I don't think it landed at all (I can't fucking believe I made a McDonald's joke in a smut fic)

If you think this fic is good, just wait for Day 2...

Here is the masterlist for all of my Kinktober 2023 works.

—-///—

Your eyes slowly rolled back as the master fucked himself into you.

"Shh, baby, I know you can be quiet..." He whispered into your ear.

You whimpered against your master's hand. It was becoming harder and harder not to scream in ecstasy from his thin fingers and thick cock. Two fingers were pressed against your clit, rubbing in slow sensational motions whilst his dick eased in and out of you at nearly the same pace.

You were trying so hard not make a noise. The consequences of being caught in such a scandalous position with Earl Vincent Phantomhive could be devastating. Not only was Vincent's happy family was at risk, but most importantly your reputation and job was at risk.

Imagine what people would think of you, the Phantomhive mistress whore.

But the thought of the dangerous consequences thrilled the both of you. Made you both all hot and bothered.

"Oh Master!" You moaned out.

Vincent squeezed your jaw tightly, a warning to quiet down.

"Oh princess, you know my family are just outside that door. Are you trying to get us caught?" Vincent tutted.

You whined and lowered your head slightly. You stood facing the door with the Earl right you behind you and inside you, watching and almost daring someone to walk in and catch you in the act.

Vincent suddenly picked up the pace, moving faster in and out of your desperate hole. You placed your hands over Vincent's, the one still squeezing your face, as an attempt to hide your moans and cries better. Vincent groaned behind you, feeling himself grow closer to his climax.

"Oh God, I'm going to fill you up so good my little maid." He huffed into your ear.

"Please Sir!" You cried, the sound muffled behind both your hands and Vincent's over your mouth. You were just as close.

It wasn't long before you and your lover made it to your long needed orgasms. As promised, Vincent spilled his seed far into your awaiting hole. Whilst your cum spilled onto the carpet under you. You'd have fun trying to get that stain out later, seeing as you couldn't possibly leave it for your co workers to deal with.

You sighed and went to stand up straight, but Vincent stopped you with a kind hand on your back.

"Wait Darling, we can't let all this cum go to waste." Vincent chuckled.

He pulled up your panties nice and tight and lovingly tapped your pussy through your panties before letting you stand up and turn to face him.

Vincent tutted again and sighed as you looked down at your cum on the carpet, he was stingy with cum, always insisting both your fluids be properly taken by the other. Vincent liked getting his and yours cum worth. Oh well, he'd just have to make up for it later. He pulled himself back into his trousers and smiled at you while stretching a bit.

He walked over to the door but before opening it, he turned back to you and grinned, "I'll want you again before the day is over, so I'll need you stay later than usual. You don't have a problem with that, do you Princess?"

You stood in front of your master, skirt still pulled up, cum sticking to your thighs and filling your cunt also covering the carpet under you whilst your legs shook. His words had your pussy clenching around nothing, again.

So obviously you smiled and slowly shook you head, "Not at all. Master..."

[sugurouge]

— yes, my lady : sebastian michaelis x f!reader

content warnings! reader is a descendant of the phantomhive family, power imbalance (master/servant) but also (human/demon), somewhat monsterfucking if you squint (i wanted to make use of his ‘true form’ a little), smut, size difference, manhandling, praise, pet names (my lady, darling, dear), orgasm control, sacrilege, a tiny bit of blood, topics of loneliness

summary: after another tiresome day out in the world, you are greeted with your recent mistake—sebastian. a hand-me-down from your ancestors that you summoned by chance and who now apparently has a contract with you. yet this modern world, working women, independence, and your awfully bratty attitude are challenges that are entirely new to him. however, he did swear to serve you. so, allow him to take care of his tired "mistress"

wordcount: 5k | my kinktober masterlist

It’s not every day that your job becomes stressful enough to fully tire you out. But today, today was even more draining than you had anticipated. Deep red eyes watch your tired form from across the hallway, raking over your figure as the owner remains quiet. Sebastian hasn't quite understood the fulfilment behind humans working themselves to the bone, nor the desire for young women to eagerly venture out to conquer “corporate,” as you once called it.

Yet, understanding or not, he is sworn to serve you and look after you. You are in his care until the contract is completed.

For this, he steps forward, his touch as sultry and gentle as his voice that welcomes you home. “My Lady,” the demon begins, as strength returns to your figure upon the stabilising hold of his hands on the small of your back while you remove your heels. You meet his smile with a glare from your pretty eyes, still wary of your newly added décor.

“I can handle myself just fine, Sebastian.” Yes, you’re a feisty one. Sebastian has been well aware of that fact since the moment you met. You dislike men staring at you in the street, loathe the forced small talk with them at work, or having to humour one of them when all you want is to be in the safety and comfort of your home. The once safe haven you now share with some sort of butler, or so he proclaimed. Never would you have expected such an outcome from your family’s antiques.

But here you are, the independent woman from before, now with a handsome devil at your beck and call. “You appear particularly exhausted tonight. Why not let me take care of you and help you to a restful night?” Sebastian proposes with gentle calmness to your vervour as his hands return to rest behind his back.

He irritates you. His act of concern for you when all he truly cares for is your soul. The motive is clear, yet he play-pretends to be something you cannot wrap your head around. “And what could you do for me?” you challenge in return, crossing your arms in front of your chest as the tip of your nose lifts a little higher to meet Sebastian’s gaze. “Anything you wish,” replies the butler, without a hint of malice in his words. “I would propose running a hot bath, brewing a warm cup of tea, and—” he pauses, clearly having caught himself with an idea you would despise.

The proposal sounds pleasing, almost exactly what you would do if you weren’t feeling too lazy to run a bath for yourself. But he doesn't need to know that. Your expression remains unfaltering, almost challenging. “And what? Speak, Sebastian.” The quirk of your brow ticks Sebastian off in just the right way, your confidence and demand a challenge he secretly enjoys.

The distance between your bodies grows smaller, and a gloved hand tips your chin up as red hues draw near. “A massage for your exhausted figure, my Lady.” He drawls the title, a pinch of condescension hidden in his words. You can’t resist the idea of standing on your toes, leaning further into his space to see him shrink away as your lips almost brush Sebastian’s while you speak: “Carry me, Sebastian.”

Yet, he does not shy away. He feels your pulse quicken, hears your heart drumming a beat of bravery, while your sweet lips could offer a relief he hasn’t felt in millennia. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth upon your demand and, without hesitation, you find yourself in his embrace. Knees and shoulders pressed firmly against his body, Sebastian carries you to your bedroom.

He knows tonight won’t be easy on him. Sebastian is well aware of the mischief you try to conceal, to seem more mature than you actually are. But tonight you appear different; tonight, you bring new challenges to your rendezvous once your head finds its rest on his shoulder. The tease of your breath against his neck, your smaller fingers playing with his necktie as you wet your lips. Nothing good comes from those pretty lips, Sebastian notes.

“Sebastian?” How can you suddenly say his name so softly? He looks down to you, the crimson tinge to his eyes making him appear like a starved hunter under the faint lights of the streetlamps and mood lights in your apartment. “The water is already set and at the perfect temperature for the female body.” Of course, he had heard your footsteps from afar and decided that tonight would be perfect for a bath. He is an expert at planning, at being one step ahead of everyone else. That is, until you continue speaking. A simple command, short and to the point, too alluring: “Undress me.”

You need to try harder if you wish to get a rise from him. For now, you find yourself seated on your bathroom counter with a newly found frown adorning your face. It doesn’t suit you, but it entertains Sebastian. “Your wish is my command,” he speaks an octave lower, honey almost dripping from his words before skilled fingers smooth out the fabric of your blouse. Sebastian’s gaze does not meet yours while he unbuttons it; he stays focused on the task without lusting over your exposed skin.

Suddenly, you wish he would want to devour you. The gloved touch that teases your upper body is not enough, yet so close to the fulfilling feeling of desire that you miss.

The clothing item is pushed off your shoulders before his touch ghosts along your waist. “May I continue?” The question is accompanied by one hand held out to you, palm facing up for you to grasp and rise to your feet. In one swift move, you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror as Sebastian spins you around to undo the intricate buttons of your skirt you had struggled with this morning—why must designers place them in such difficult spots?

To nobody’s surprise, they are undone as quickly as your blouse, before your silk dress follows suit and pools around your ankles, leaving you in nothing but a tantalising set of underwear—dark red, almost a perfect match to Sebastian’s eyes. You eyes meet through the mirror and you refuse to shy away. No, like the little vixen that you are, you lean forward just enough to expose yourself further to your demon as you pretend to busy yourself by wiping off your lipstick.

It feels humbling to witness his gaze remain unfaltering; Sebastian continues to look into your eyes rather than the places you want his greed to be. “I will prepare your tea now,” he states as business continues as usual before leaving you alone.

A sigh is all you allow yourself as your shoulders slump. You really tried to seduce him. At the thought, you find a smile tugging at your mouth, the lust to be desired something that has been missing for a while now in your life. You know work, you know how to overwork yourself, and you have no time for flings or meaningless encounters. That was when he entered the picture.

Upon Sebastian’s return, he finds you seated in the bathtub; You’ve made sure to keep your hair out of the water and expose your neck, for hungry eyes to appreciate the shein layer of damp on your skin. The plate beneath the teacup meets the ceramic of your bathtub as your widened—nearly pleading—eyes shoot up to challenge his. If only you had acted a second quicker, you would have caught him staring at your cleavage, barely covered by the water and foam.

“Is there anything else you may need?” Sebastian inquires. He hates to admit it, but tonight seems like a greater challenge than he anticipated. How the simple word “You” could weaken a demon of his calibre is something for future Sebastian to concern himself with. Present Sebastian relishes the desire tugging at his stomach, the way you stare at him so submissively. Until you continue speaking: “Massage me, my butler.”

You turn your back to him as he takes his place behind you on the edge of the bathtub. Would you still be so smug if he grabbed your cheeks between his fingertips? If he forced you to look deep into his eyes while coaxing the cutest sounds past your lips? How can you act this way when at night you hump your pillow and beg for more, something better? Yet in the daylight, you behave like a spoiled princess, and he only adds to that imaginary status of yours. How badly he would love to ruin it. One or two more slip-ups, and he might find a loophole in your contract and commands.

To your dismay, gloved hands meet the skin of your neck. “Take them off, Sebastian. Touch me fully.” Your words bounce off the bathroom tiles, and his reply of “Yes, my lady,” echoes back. Shivers elicit along your neck as his skin touches yours, and the strength behind Sebastian’s touch massages the knots and the sorrow from your shoulders.

The moment is sweet enough to let your eyes fall closed, your head resting against Sebastian’s thigh as you sigh a gentle moan of relief. The sound snaps Sebastian’s attention to your face. With your eyes closed, he allows himself a moment to admire your features. Even a demon can admit that some humans are indeed beautiful. Sometimes, that beauty doesn’t surpass their soul, but in your case, there is something so unique about you that captivates Sebastian’s attention and lust.

You catch him staring as your eyes flutter open, the position you find yourself in so vulnerable, with him leaning above you. “Naughty butler…” you tease, and Sebastian wants to wipe that cheeky smirk right off your face. “If you have so much time to stare at me, you might as well wash my body for me.” The disrespectful teasing, as if he were nothing more than a pet, reminds Sebastian of someone else, someone he couldn’t wait to devour many years ago. But what else could he do but make himself useful for now?

In a swift move, Sebastian shrugs off his jacket and pushes up the sleeves of his buttoned shirt before kneeling beside your bathtub. He appears disinterested again, putting on a perfect mask of nonchalance as he runs the washcloth along your shoulders and arms, warming your figure and letting rose-scented water wash the sorrows away.

Until you’ve had enough of this act. Until you grow overly confident as you lean into his proximity: Your fingers lace around Sebastian’s wrist like a personal handcuff, your eyes locking onto his. “Be more thorough, Sebastian. Wash away the filth.” You go as far as to help him run the cloth over your chest. The drag of his nails against your sensitive skin sends shivers down your spine, and Sebastian watches you attentively, to witness your pupils dilate, the pink tip of your tongue darting out to wet your lips as your noses almost touch. He has never obeyed such a troublesome person before.

You start to bring out the worst in him—something that wants to teach you a lesson, something to remind you how different the roles could be if it weren't for this contract. The washcloth is pushed over your breasts and dips beneath the surface of the water to run along your stomach before being abandoned entirely as Sebastian’s fingers dip into the supple flesh of your thighs. Blunt nails drag along your inner thighs, and he loves to watch the shift in your demeanour; how you grow shy beneath his touch, your stare faltering as he draws dangerously close to your sacred area.

There is no bite to your bark as you cry out his name, your need for him too evident while you try to maintain a pretence. "S-Sebastian!" Finally, you act as your thighs press shut around his hand, panic ever so evident in your pretty eyes he can't stop the devilish smirk from spreading across his features. "My dear, don’t tell me you expect to play with fire and come out unharmed…"

The next moment, your back meets the cold stone as Sebastian races forward, hands placed left and right from your figure on the edge of the bathtub. The impact forces a puff of air to escape your lips as your eyes snap up to meet your butler’s dark pair, searching for a trace of humanity in those pools of crimson. "Behave…" you attempt to regain control, which is met with a chuckle. "I only follow your commands," he challenges as the cloth returns to clean your body. "You wanted me to be thorough, let me be thorough."

However, the lips that crash against the racing pulse in your neck have nothing to do with the command of cleaning your body. Sebastian acts upon his own selfish accord, upon the lust you’ve ignited by teetering too close to the dangerous territories of demonic desires.

And he makes you feel too good as he ravages you, suckling and nipping at your skin until you can't help but moan, your head falling back to offer him more space. You can't even think of a fitting command, the sweet words for him to "Don’t stop, please," a much more natural reaction as his palms cup your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples until you whimper ever so prettily.

"Who would have thought you could turn into such a sweet darling?" Sebastian teases with whispered words against the shell of your ear, the hum that follows so deep and low it has your stomach fluttering. Your fingers lace between his dark strands, effectively holding him in place as you return to being face-to-face with Sebastian. Shamelessly, you allow yourself to rake your eyes over his sharp features. You've never wanted anything more than him. But the thought evaporates upon the sharp sensation of nails against your waistline and hips, upon the pair of fingers pushing between your folds before rubbing against your clit.

Oh? How willingly you part your legs now, Sebastian muses.

"Is this thorough enough, my lady?" he mocks as his fingertips press against the opening of your pussy, your eager hole giving way slightly as he pushes past. He knows what he’s doing to you. He sees it in the crease of your brow, feels it as your hips buck against his touch. "More, Sebastian, I need more tonight." Like the greedy thing you are, you take it upon yourself to play with your breasts, yet the silent plea in your eyes tells your butler all you want is for him to take care of you.

“Oh dear,” he whispers gently, but smiles victoriously as your moans tumble from your trembling lips when two of his fingers push inside you. "Do you give yourself to me? Allow me full reign, hm?"

The idea sounds great, perfect, until you manage to flutter your heavy eyes open and see the devious apparition in front of you. Sebastian’s eyes are more slanted, set ablaze, deep pink hues now replacing his usual red, with lust overflowing past his thick lashes as pointed teeth hide behind his full lips. Giving yourself to a demon doesn’t seem like the best idea, but the fingers stimulating your gummy spot have you nodding regardless. How lucky you are that you need to use words under these circumstances.

“Darling, tell me,” Sebastian urges as his thrusts become harsher, uncaring for the water or your comfort as your tits bounce and your walls clamp so promisingly. “N-no, no, Sebastian! Just, ah—” you falter as you try your best to stay present, to keep control over this demon while he fingerfucks you. “Think, speak, quickly, little Lady,” he further pressures you. What he wouldn’t give to do with your body whatever he wants. “Just-, just tonight! Sebastian—” the way you moan his name makes you a sinner itself, it should send you to all seven hells as the echoes ring inside his mind. “Look after me, tonight,” you finally manage to cry out as your walls pull in desperate need. “Make me feel good,” your final demand.

But instead of sweet release, you feel the disappointing emptiness as he retracts his fingers, leaving you a heaving mess in your bathtub—only now do you notice how cold the water has turned. “You can ask more nicely than that, my dear.” There is little consideration to be spared for the length of your bath once a strong arm wraps around your waist. Sebastian wastes no time in having you seated on his lap, your wet form drenching his clothing as he spreads your legs over his thighs and presses you flush against his chest. “I will look after you until the day you die,” he whispers into your ear, and maybe if the words weren’t so true and less intimidating, you could consider them romantic.

You notice that Sebastian’s form has returned to fully human, with almost tender eyes meeting yours this time around, turning your desire mellow and seasoned with sweetness. “Kiss me, please.”

He follows suit as your lips crash together a moment later, his palms stabilising your back in his hold. “More…” you breathe. Your fingers reach out to guide one of his hands on your back, between the valley of your tits, down your stomach, until you ultimately buck your hips against his, seeking further friction in desperate need. He tightens his hold on your body, tugging gently at your frame as he leans forward to suck on your wet skin, leaving marks in his wake. A small grin tugs at his lips as a soft whimper escapes you. “What’s wrong?” The whispered question makes goosebumps spread over your skin as the chill of his breath battles with the warmth of your bathroom.

“Want to be ruined by you.” The words that fall past your lips seal your fate. “Please, make me feel good, Sebastian.” You sound so desperate, only a fool would resist. “Taint me,” you shamelessly sigh against his ear, “Let me feel you.”

“Taint you…” he murmurs, halting his movements momentarily to witness you grow impatient before one of his arms holds a firm grip around your waist, restricting your movements as you’re now fully pressed against his chest. “How much more does my little Lady want to be tainted?” His free hand ghosts along your puffy lips, your slick making the drag too easy, too appealing to not draw circles into your clit, only pulling back any time he feels you squirm on his lap. Your little cries are music to Sebastian’s ears. It’s so good, too good, the way his fingers move, almost as if he already knows all your weak spots. “Do you wish to experience bliss only I could give you, and ruin yourself for all eternity?” His questions urge you to wrap your arms around him, to hide your face in the gentle embrace of a monster, as though you’re trying to hide from judgement itself upon your immoral fantasies. “I wish for that, Sebastian.”

No further words are needed, not when your lips convey more as they meet Sebastian's. A kiss so fierce, he may steal the air from your lungs and drag you to hell himself. Teeth pull at your bottom lip unapologetically, his tongue meeting with your own, entwining with another until you taste him. Meanwhile, the familiar stretch of his fingers, accompanied by the filthy squelching of your arousal, threatens to overload your senses. The teasing returns as your lips part to allow Sebastian a front row seat to your desperate play, as his thumb presses into your clit. You really yearn for this orgasm, don’t you? Of course, you do, with how tightly you clench around his digits, pulsing as though you’re trying to keep him inside—as if he couldn’t offer you a much better alternative.

“Let go, my dear, you look so beautiful right now, I want to see you come undone for me.” Sebastian encourages, as his fingers expertly curl against your walls, each time pushing past the limits of what you’re able to take. So you let go, finally, allowing your eyes to shut as your fingers fist the fabric of his dress shirt. He’s never received praise in a prayer-like form, the sighing thank-yous tumbling free between your moans, so unlike the feisty thing you pretend to be. You are adorable. “Very good, my darling, just like that.” Sebastian whispers, as the movements slow down until his fingers still inside you, until the heaving of your chest and the trembling of your thighs calms, and you fall into his embrace.

But much to Sebastian's surprise, and despite his predictions about your exhaustion, you return his previous affections. Your lips kiss along his neck as you undo his necktie, fingertips already so eager to free him from the confines of his clothes, it makes Sebastian wonder who the real glutton between you two is. “My Lady,” he innocently halts your advances as he entwines his fingers with your own, kissing each tip while holding eye contact. “Shouldn’t we proceed to your chambers? I don’t wish to bring needless discomfort upon you—you need your strength to handle me.” At that, you feel his tongue drag along your pointer finger before a final kiss is placed on its tip, while a devious smile returns to Sebastian’s lips. If only you wouldn’t look so adorable each time he teases you. But you are already too far gone to keep up pretences, when you can instead allow someone else to finally be your resolve.

So it's only natural for you to command Sebastian once more. “Bring me to my bed,” you mumble while your arms already lace around his neck. He follows.

Yet it catches you by surprise once you’re simply dropped into your bouncy mattress and sea of pillows. However, in the next moment, you find yourself caged underneath Sebastian. Your hands roam free to undo his dress shirt and shrug it off his figure, allowing your nails to drag over his pearly skin until you reach his pants and finally feel what lies hidden behind the dark fabrics.

You seem in control, until firm hands spread your thighs and Sebastian leans in, to nibble along your inner legs, shining in the moonlight as he dives between your thighs to lap at your cunt, his tongue pushing past the tight ring of your entrance before dragging all over your hot and puffy pussy. He then licks and kisses his way up your stomach, sternum, and nipples, while the surprising satisfaction of his cock—hot, hard, and leaking with pre-cum—coats itself with your juices. He grinds against you until you writhe for more, until his hands find rest on the back of your knees so he can press your legs up against your sides, fully opening you to thrust into you without struggle, without restraint, as lust overcomes him.

You shake your head at the stretch of his girth welcoming your pussy, sweet pleas mixed with whiny complaints escaping your lips without much thought. “‘S too much, Sebastian… can’t…” you admit. The chuckle that follows is devious, before a soft sigh in satisfaction follows as tender lips place an adoring kiss to your cheek. “You will,” Sebastian whispers, followed by the command “Now just surrender to me.” His lips seek out your own once more as he picks up a relentless pace.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving red streaks that run deep. You can’t look at anything but him—his strong body on top of yours, the visible strain to his muscles while he ruts into you���until you find yourself once more captivated by his eyes. He almost looks at you lovingly, no hungrily. But Sebastian doesn't just want to consume your soul; no, his desires reach beyond basic greed. He wants to own you, to keep you to himself, to reign over you until your best years are over. You can see it clearly while swimming in crimson. But with the delicious drag of his cock inside your walls, you might just let him. Who would have expected you to be tamed this well by getting fucked?

“Please, please, please,” you exhale as your head lolls from side to side, writhing beneath your very own demon. Oh? You’re quick to beg. Quick to turn desperate, so eager to have more of something that should never have been yours. “Sebastian, Sebastian,” you repeat like a mantra as his hands hold your fragile body, digging into your hips to force you into a perfect arch for Sebastian to ravage your skin. He litters kisses over your chest, laps at your nipples, and drags your hips back down to snap against his while he is guided by gluttony.

“Give yourself to me,” you demand with no trace of shame in your bones, finally giving him a task worthy of your beautiful soul. “Stay with me, be mine…”

You almost feel dizzy with how easily Sebastian hoists you up until you’re on all fours, ass perfectly exposed for him to fully sheath his cock inside you, effectively pushing your upper body into your sea of pillows. But in stark contrast to his rather harsh handling of your body, his lips return to press soft kisses along your back. “I am yours if you are mine, my darling.” The words flow like honey before your blood coats Sebastian’s tongue as he breaks the skin, engraving himself on your skin.

Your fingers dig into the cushions, searching for support as you struggle. But the strong arm lacing around your body is all the comfort you will need from now on; his cold touch will soon set you ablaze.

Sebastian is deep inside you, the head of his cock finding your sweet spot almost naturally as he perfectly curves against your velvet walls, hips snapping against your ass with unforeseen fervour. His hands dig into your hips, surely bruising your hip bones for the coming days, but you’ve never felt this good before. Never so full, never as cared for as by the monster that is in love with your soul. You moan his name in delight, making Sebastian proud once you eagerly bounce back into his thrusts.

The husky sounds of pleasure grow clearer as his movements slow down. You feel yourself being further pushed against the mattress, to spread your legs wider and arch deeper, for his penetration to slowly steal your sanity. Who would have expected the pressure of his palm against your stomach would make you clamp around him this much? Moaning, whimpering, pleading as you beg for mercy, trying to tell him it’s too… “Too good, Sebastian, I’m—”

His movements are slow but precise, accentuating the way you desperately clamp around him in an attempt to hold him inside you for eternity. “Yes, fall apart. Let go for me,” Sebastian’s eyes roam over your smaller body beneath him—a sweaty, shaking mess. He will take care of that right after you are done. For now, instead of worrying, his hands grab at your ass almost aggressively, spreading your lower lips even further as he ruts into you.

The high-pitched squeal that escapes your throat when he picks up his pace again serves as a perfect display of your misery. Tears prick at the sides of your eyes as your hips are pushed back to meet Sebastian’s relentless thrusts. “Make me proud, little Lady...” his final demand, with sneaky fingers returning to play with your clit as he hoists you off the bed, holding you tightly against his chest.

You’re fully seated on his cock, entirely engulfed by his embrace and consumed by the demon, just as you bask in the sweet release coursing through your veins. Sebastian allows himself to be lost in your pretty cries and the way your pussy practically drips from both of your orgasms. True to his nature, he watches you like a devil on your shoulder; dark red eyes witnessing your fucked-out expression while the cutest smile illuminates your features.

His lips caress your neck as he whispers, “Do you feel better now?” You hum and let your fingers card through his hair, a tired “I do. Thank you, Sebastian” exchanged from your mouth to his ear.

Swiftly, Sebastian moves to carry you back to your spacious bathtub and lets it refill with warmth. “How about my Lady actually relaxes this time around?”

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[chrollogy]

EPISODE 1: ONE HELL OF A PLAN

sebastian michaelis x f!reader

NNN ‘24 masterlist | Next Episode

DETAILS: No Nut November only has one rule—to abstain oneself from an orgasm or ‘nutting’ during the whole month of November—that means no rule is broken if Sebastian fucks you without cumming, right?

DURATION: 3.1k

CONTENT ADVISORY: explicit smut, mdni, sexual tension, unprotected sex, p in v, orgasm denial/edging, cervix fucking, seb puts reader in like three different positions, porn without plot, seb may be a slight menace, pet names (my love), not beta read.

DIRECTOR’S NOTE: divider: cafekitsune. first fic of november ^^ i might be a bit rusty hehe but enjoy !!

“And what, pray tell, would both parties—us—benefit from such an arrangement?” Sebastian hummed, voice like velvet wrapping you in a smooth embrace beneath his crimson gaze, it glowed eerily. With the month of November right around the corner, you had introduced Sebastian to No Nut November—the rules were simple, no one was to orgasm for the entirety of the month.

Though, the latter was rather amused before you got to explain the challenge’s real meaning, Sebastian had thought that one was to abstain from all types of nuts during November, apparently not. It gave you a good laugh, not to mention how you almost called him innocent yet you knew he was far from that.

You returned a shrug which earned a curious tilt of his head, “It’s just a little fun challenge I want to try.” “Mhm, are you quite sure you’re able to complete this entire month without ‘nutting’.” Sebastian lifted his arms, forming air quotes with his fingers, a sly smirk painted on his lips. Letting out a playful scoff, you crossed your arms over your chest, and narrowed a gaze at him,

“Are you deeming me incapable?”

Sebastian let out a dulcet chuckle but nonetheless, raised his gloved hands in defence, “I didn’t mean to impose but if I were to recall our activities during the past week, you couldn’t get enough of my co—” You swiftly covered his mouth with a palm; flustered was written all over your face, and it fuelled Sebastian’s smugness. Feeling his smile widen beneath your touch had you ripping your hand away from his face only to be swiftly caught by an ivory-gloved hand.

Slender fingers uncurled from your wrist, you watched as it slowly snaked up your hand to capture it in a gentle hold, Sebastian brought it up to his lips, deftly kissing the back of your palm. His crimson eyes were on yours,

“I’d be delighted to participate in this challenge with you. The only rule is to abstain from an orgasm, correct?”

An icy shudder kissed down your spine. You absentmindedly nodded, as though his ruby gaze had bewitched the depths of your soul. “Noted.” That was all Sebastian said before walking off, the sound of his raven heeled shoes clicking against the marbled tiles. Though, you were sharp enough to catch a glimpse of the way his lips stretched into a smug smile—it held absolutely no innocence.

The challenge started off fairly normal, you, and Sebastian waltzed around every corner of the shared house without carnal desire consuming your minds—it was pure domesticity, normal couple, normal lives, all was well. Other types of skinship were of course still on the table, innocent hugs, and cuddles filled the days where sexual intercourse lacked.

Safe to say, you were surprised to make it two weeks into November untouched by Sebastian nor yearning for such pleasure. Though, you weren’t exactly surprised for the latter, he was a man of restraint after all, having not eaten any souls for as long as he could remember despite his species—it only made sense for Sebastian to see this challenge as mere child’s play.

By the start of the third week, the atmosphere violently shifted, the house felt eerily intense, as though a predator loomed within its dark corners, waiting to pounce the moment you displayed a sign of weakness. At first, you chalked it up to the lack of sexual pleasure but you quickly caught onto what was happening.

Sebastian’s hands lingered on you, dangerously near parts where he hasn’t touched you since the start of the month. His crimson eyes also bore into your soul with each conversation which resulted in your sweet, sweet arousal shamefully pooling between your legs—you knew that look, one he’d give you whenever he craved the intimacy of your raw beauty.

But it didn’t stop there.

Innocent cuddles turned into touches with more meaning behind them, the sinful rub of his palms against the plush of your thighs. Wholesome hugs turned into his nose buried deep in the junction of your neck to take a whiff of your intoxicating scent—you still remembered the feeling of his nose dragging up your sensitive skin, leaving trails of goosebumps for him to lick, and nip at. Chaste kisses turned into passionate makeout sessions where tongues were involved, breaths hot, and heavy.

“Sebastian . .” You panted, weakly pulling away from his sinful lips. Somehow, you found yourself atop the shared bed, caged beneath Sebastian as he eagerly trailed wet kisses down the column of your neck as though his lips couldn’t get enough of your bare skin. How weird, the two of you were just in the living room moments ago.

He hummed, sending low vibrations across your sensitive skin, “Something wrong?” Sebastian looked up from the junction of your neck, intense crimson gaze earning an icy shudder from you, “If you—If you continue like this, neither of us would be able to stop . . We were doing so well—Haah! It’d be a waste if we lose the challenge.”

That was the thing, even though Sebastian was a man of patience, he was still a demon after all—an impatient one once his prey was trapped within the confines of his claws.

Sebastian only replied with a humourless chuckle, continuing to work his deft fingers all over your clothed body. And you let him. You let your lover gently peel off articles of clothing, and with every newly exposed skin, he peppers them with such tenderness that only a demon with a heart could conjure. Layer after layer, each chaste kiss was placed upon your naked skin until your bare beauty was all that’s left for the demon to admire.

He clicked his tongue before gathering your arousal on his fingers, causing a low mewl to escape past your lips. With a small smile painted on his face, Sebastian admired the shine of his digits—the way your essence sinfully glistened beneath the late afternoon sun as it reflected gentle hues of oranges, and reds from the sky outside.

“My love, I’m sure this is more of a waste, don’t you think?”

With that, Sebastian pushed his digits past his rosy lips all the way to the base, his slender tongue eagerly wiping the thin coat of your arousal from his fingers; you tasted absolutely divine. You watched as Sebastian let out a satisfied hum, paired with his closed eyes, as though to thoroughly relish the flavour of your essence.

How sinfully lewd, the sight had you clenching your bare cunt around nothing but complete disappointment, an uncomfortable ache growing with every slow second. Sebastian slipped his fingers out with a subtle pop before starting on his own clothes—layer by layer, he peeled each fine fabric off his slender physique, exposing his pale complexion.

Sure, No Nut November was a fun little challenge for the month, and no one really lost anything if the rule was broken but your competitive side somehow couldn’t take this meaningless loss.

“It’d be such a shame to lose.” You mumbled, half unsure if you were really willing to see through the end of the challenge—well, you have gotten this far into the month. 

“‘To lose’?” Sebastian let out a devilish chuckle, lips stretched into a devious smile—one suited for a demon from the depths of hell. Somehow, you weren’t quite looking forward to the next few words that were going to come out of his mouth.

 “My love, who said you were cumming tonight?”

Oh. Your heart sank to your stomach. If anything, Sebastian was a man of his word.

A second passed—a heartbeat—as you held Sebastian’s deep crimson stare. He only said one sentence yet it was as though your mind tried to process a whole paragraph spoken in an ancient language. Upon your silence, he decided it’d be best to refresh your mind on the singular rule of the challenge,

“From what I remember, the one, and only rule was to abstain from an orgasm, correct?” He sauntered over to the foot of the king-sized bed, ruby gaze locked onto nothing but you, as though you were tonight’s freshly caught prey.

You nodded.

“And it said nothing about engaging in sexual acts, correct?” By now, Sebastian had both palms planted atop the foot of the mattress, sizing you up, and down.

Once again, you nodded.

“Then no loss will be taken as long as we do not orgasm—you’re capable of that, aren’t you?” Sebastian slowly crawled up the mattress, akin to a predator looking over its prey, each silent move calculated and silently deadly.

Evil. Wicked. An absolute diabolical plan, as expected from a cunning demon. How his mind worked amazed you without fail. You fell right into Sebastian’s trap, buttering you up with sexual tension for the past few days ‘til you displayed a sign of vulnerability—a slight opening to feed off of just before he goes for the devastating kill.

One that you cannot escape.

In all honesty, you expected no less from a demon. To take advantage of one while completely defenceless was second nature to him at this point—what better way to sink his fangs into than a sexually deprived human?

Before you could even answer Sebastian’s question, a cold hand parted your legs, causing you to flinch at the sudden contrast of temperature. And without wasting any more time, Sebastian slowly eased the head of his cock, pulling a unison of breathy sighs from both of you, “I do hope you don’t forget about the arrangement we agreed upon at the start of the month.” Sebastian let out a grunt, tone laced with pure tease, as though he wasn’t inching his cock inside your velvety walls.

Oh god.

Your fingers sunk into the soft sheets beneath your naked body, toes curling at the feel of his length spreading your walls apart. Each centimetre of Sebastian’s thick cock pushed inside your sopping cunt had you panting harder, a searing blaze kissed, and nipped at your feverish skin as pure pleasure gnawed at your very bones.

It had only been exactly three weeks since you proposed the No Nut November challenge to Sebastian—only three weeks without his cock inside you yet why did this feel like the first night you had him? Oh, you remembered all the sensations your body felt like it was yesterday; the pinch between your legs at Sebastian’s sheer size, the tremble of your body like a fragile autumn leaf as he bottomed out, the insanity of tethering between sobriety, and completely giving into pleasure.

All of it. And That’s how you felt right this very moment.

With Sebastian’s hips flush against your own, and his entire length fully sheathed inside, he stilled for a brief moment. Tresses of raven strands fell over his serene face as he looked down, rosy lips parted in a shallow pant, and crimson eyes locked on you. It glowed a little, like a precious ruby gemstone beneath the sun, an endless pool of swirling red.

It beckoned you with its slender finger, urging you to give into the sinful pleasure he generously offered.

“Haah!—How impatient.” The demon smirked, showing a peek of pointed canines amongst his pearly whites as your velvety walls automatically tightened around him. Nonetheless, Sebastian slowly moved his hips, starting off with a generous pace to bask in your velvety walls, allowing him to feel your cushiony insides, and how it pulsed for him—deep strokes to drag out the pleasure brewing at the pit of your stomach.

Though, his languid thrusts didn’t last for long, only displaying a fleeting moment of faux mercy before picking the pace up. Your hands soon found comfort on either side of your head, twisted around to grip at the silken sheets beneath, it didn’t help much considering how your body jolted upwards with each relentless thrust Sebastian gave.

Oxygen from your lungs quickly turned into sighs of content and dainty mewls in the shape of the demon’s name, your toes curled inwards at the sinful rhythm of your bodies—a firm push, and pull, push, and pull which steadily coaxed louder, passionate moans.

It blended well with the pornographic skin slapping as Sebastian’s heavy balls slapped your ass, a filthy tune fit for a wicked demon and his beloved. 

Sebastian stared at you with a rather amused expression on his face, the corners of his lips tugging upwards in a teasing smile; it hasn’t been long since the two of you started yet you were easily coming undone, slowly bordering into pure lust. If you had any shame left in your body, you’d be embarrassed at how easily he made you submit to pleasure.

Taking it up a notch, Sebastian deftly placed your right leg over his slender shoulder. With his hips flush against yours, it allowed his cockhead to reach deeper with the new angle, repeatedly kissing your sweet spot. He gave no room for reaction before driving back and forth at a much faster pace that had you rolling your eyes back.

“Seb—aah! Ngh! Right there!”

Greedy pride blossomed across his naked chest at your cockdrunk state. This wasn’t a rare sight for Sebastian per se but oh, how he missed seeing you bare your lewd expressions to him—vulnerable and utterly lost in pleasure. A subtle smirk crept its way up to his face, too bad you couldn’t see it with how much your vision bounced, mixed with tears pooling around your eyes.

As Sebastian mercilessly pistoned his hips, it didn’t take long for pleasure to slowly climb up, up, up and reach its peak. You tightened around him, repeatedly babbling his name in barely coherent whimpers, a clear indication that you neared your peak. Naturally—or rather unfortunately, the ever attentive demon noticed this amidst the rough fucking he gave.

With the smirk he wore unfaltering, Sebastian quickly pulled out, ripping a rather embarrassing whine from your lips, “W-wait! No!” Genuine frustration coated your voice. Disappointment swiftly replaced the pleasure you felt, and no matter how much you tried holding on to that feeling, it stubbornly slipped from your very fingers which elicited another whine from you.

Paying no mind to your sounds, he deftly repositioned your limp body by unhooking the leg draped over his shoulder to have you face the mattress instead.

How pliant your divine body was. Just the way Sebastian liked it.

A muffled wanton moan filled his ears as he entered your sopping cunt from behind, naked body flush against your own. Given Sebastian’s generous length, the reach was much deeper this time, his cockhead kissed your cervix over and over again ‘til saliva dripped from the corners of your lips, and onto the ivory sheets below.

Sebastian placed his lips dangerously close to your ear, allowing you to hear every heated grunt and curse he had to offer which only brought you faster to the edge. If anything, hearing him moan always had an effect on you and he was well aware of that fact. You bit your lip, snaking a shaky hand behind to tug at his obsidian strands.

“S-Seb—mhm! Please let me cum—!”

He gave your shoulder a small nip, and breathlessly chuckled into your ear, his hot breath leaving trails of goosebumps in its wake,

“Oh, my love but you can’t. You’ve worked so hard for this, right? Or am I mistaken?” Sebastian’s tone was nothing but pure tease, not even holding an ounce of mercy in his words.

Before you could protest, your lover quickly hauled you up, weak knees planted on the mattress, and your body slumped against him. The new position allowed you to lean back on Sebastian’s shoulder for support but your exposed front meant he had easy access to your sensitive parts.

One hand cupped a breast while the other snaked down, down, down towards the bundle of nerves just above your wet entrance. You jolted in surprise, electrifying pleasure sending shocks throughout your body as Sebastian deftly toyed with your clit—round, and round, figure of eights, side to side, he knew it all.

He knew just how to turn your body into a quivering mess until you completely moulded into his hold. The mixed stimulation of your clit, g-spot, and sensitive nipple had you seeing stars, it wasn’t rare for Sebastian to do this during sex but having been deprived of it for a few weeks definitely had your body reacting in some kind of way.

“Fuck! God, please—!”

As your words hung in the thick air, something inside Sebastian snapped, his demeanour shifted the very moment you had spoken the word ‘god’ as though you had just cursed him.

A ripple of silent power engulfed every corner of the room, an unsettling chill of aura replaced the burning atmosphere it housed a few moments ago—so suffocating, so mysteriously wicked but none of it frightened you, if anything, Sebastian’s possessiveness only urged you to clench around his hard cock.

It was subtle but nothing ever got past the demon and his impeccable senses.

He let out a low growl against your neck, sharpened teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, “Have you forgotten? I’m no god, my love.”

Despite your senses completely drowned in nothing but pure pleasure, you could hear the subtle bite Sebastian had in his tone, a hint of bitterness. Nonetheless, you couldn’t really point it out given how he decided to brutally piston his hips into your cunt—heavy balls repeatedly slapped against your ass, creating a pleasurable burn to spread across your skin.

You were a mess. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks nonstop as you begged and begged Sebastian to let you cum, to cream around his cock just how he liked it. The build up of pleasure from your denied orgasms earlier hit you ten-fold, it engulfed your body in a trembling embrace.

Is this what losing one’s mind was like?

Your nails clawed at the hand on your clit, painful crimson streaks running up Sebastian’s pale skin but it only urged him to rub it even faster, making up for his sloppy thrusts. “Seb! ‘M cumming—ah!” Disappointingly, before the coil deep inside you snapped, Sebastian quickly pulled out, leaving you clenching in nothing but disappointment. You shamelessly whined as the feeling of pleasure slowly seeped out of you,more tears rolled down your flushed cheeks as upset and frustration consumed your soul.

Sebastian watched you fall onto the mattress, he watched as your body shook with soft sobs, your fingers digging into the sheets at the loss of contact, “You’re mean, you know that?” Your voice quivered, full of disappointment, and annoyance. Now, you were back to square one, not an ounce of pleasure remained in your body, as though a distant memory you dreamed of.

He could only chuckle—an apologetic one at that, “Remind me again who suggested the idea of abstinence?” 

Oh, you’ll get him back for this. 

“Don’t fret. You’ll be taken care of once the first day of the twelfth month hits.” You shuddered at his serious reassurance.

If anything, Sebastian was a man of his word. —

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© chrollogy 2024 | don’t plagiarise, repost or steal my header.

[dawn-moths]

"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)

[stitched-mouth]

Blindfolding The Snake

Pairing: Servant! Snake x Master! Phantomhive! GN! Reader.

Summary: What would blindfolding Snake during sex include…

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Blindfolded sex, Tied up/ Handcuffed sex, Oral sex (male receiving), Master x Servant (toxic power dynamic), Established relationship, Reader is Ciel’s older sister, Mention of edging, Mention of Mommy/Daddy kink, Mention of cumming on the face.

Writing Time: 15 minutes.

Word Count: 444.

Format: Kinktober Headcannons, Day 26.

A/N:

Love writing for Snake! Enjoy!

• Snake is a virgin, that’s obvious.

• So you have to take things slow with him.

• You two started dating after Ciel brought Snake in as his servant.

• And you, Ciel’s older sister, immediately took a liking to the white haired boy. Ciel was more than willing to make Snake your personal butler after some training from Sebastian.

• And you was rather fast and making Snake yours.

• He was your personal butler now and all your needs was his responsibility, especially your sexual needs.

• Snake is very loving during sex and that doesn’t change no matter how many times you do it or how comfortable he becomes with it.

• Nor does his shyness around the topic change.

• When the time is right, which is after Snake successfully made you dinner and it didn’t make you sick, you suggest trying something more kinky.

• Snake almost dies/cums.

• Death by orgasm FROM WORDS.

• He’d be absolutely up for it.

• You would tie your cute boyfriend up, blindfold him and get to work.

• Honestly you just wanted to suck him off, like the most of us do, but you also wanted to see if Snake would become more sensitive or cum harder if he couldn’t see you sucking him off.

• He absolutely does.

• Snake doesn’t last long usually but when he’s blindfolded, he can create a record time for fastest orgasm.

• Even if you edge him also.

• And he’s desperate to touch you afterwards.

• I don’t think Snake is crazy about being blindfolded, he only down because he loves to make you happy.

• So you’ll need to constantly remind him you’re still there.

• And even then, he still needing reminding when the blindfold is off.

• Which is why he’s so desperate to touch you afterwards, to know you’re still there.

• Snake is definitely a bottom sub and has a Mommy/Daddy kink.

• And sex is the only way to make him talk himself, without his snakes.

• He loves coming on your face, it’s like marking you which he’s very into.

• You must mark him too.

[dark-konohagakure2]

How about Sebastian nonconing a new maid?

tw: noncon, power imbalance, age difference, punishment, light degradation, manhandling

All characters depicted are 18+

While the gentleman doesn't show it on the outside, whenever he sees an incompetent servant, he just wants to wring their neck. Sebastian was already reaching the limit of his patience when it was just Mey-Rin tripping and breaking the fine china, but now that the estate has recently hired a second clumsy maid, Sebastian doesn't feel the need to hold back with the new hire.

He truly does attempt to keep up his suave butler facade in the face of her bumbling incompetence, going easy on her because she's new and only gently reprimanding her mistakes, but Sebastian's patience doesn't last very long.

Any pretense of patience is completely shattered however when she trips and knocks over a priceless vase that has been in the Phantomhive family for generations, now completely shattered due to one maid's idiocy. It's hard to tell that Sebastian is mad, he simply gives his usual closed eyed smile, the vein throbbing in his forehead only concealed by his dark bangs.

He'll maintain his sweet fake smile when he gently leads her away under the pretense of a normal punishment, such as a literal smack on the wrist, but instead of a fairly normal disciplinary measure like she expected, she pushed her into the broom closet and locks the door behind him, and she can swear that his amber eyes are now a glowing red color.

"There are limits to how much idiocy I can allow, little miss. Thanks to your foolishness I'm going to be scolded by our Young Master. I'll have to teach you a lesson..."

Sebastian won't fully expose his true nature to her, at least not physically, but he'll be truly demonic when he has his way with her, his sharp claw-like nails will dig into her hips through his gloves as he forces his cock into her quivering hole, having his way with her where anyone could overhear, being the distinguished butler he is, Sebastian won't make too many lewd noises.

He'll only occasionally make noises if he's feeling especially pleasured or if he wants to scold her again, chastising her for making him lose his composure and forcing him to discipline her in such a manner, while simultaneously acting like him using her body is just him going about his obligations as the head butler of the household, one of said duties being to keep unruly servants in line.

While not a quick shot by any stretch of the imagination, Sebastian doesn't want to dawdle for too long, she's little more than a distraction from his chores, so he's going to be rather quick with her, his bigger body pounding against her slight frame as he fills her up with his throbbing cock and demonic essence without any mercy or remorse.

Sebastian hates to make a mess, so he'll cum directly inside of her, not wanting to leave any unsightly stains or evidence of their encounter on her maid uniform, so he'll make sure that she doesn't spill a single drop of his seed before he pulls out and sends her on her not so merry way.

"There we go, maybe that will teach you to watch where you're going in the future. Now you're dismissed, go back to your duties, little one."

Sebastian's opinion on her will take a much different turn after their lovely little 'talk', while she's still his least favorite fellow servant, she is now his absolute new favorite toy.

[kentopedia]

˚₊‧꒰ა crossroad blues — sebastian

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. at the crossroads, you make a deal with the devil. instead of leaving you alone for the next ten years, it sticks around.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. dark content, mdni !!, f!reader, murder, demons, somnophilia, occult, monsterfucking ig, noncon/dubcon, unprotected sex, piv, pet names, degradation, wc: 2.1k

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. i'm self aware, this is not that good but i wanted to post something for kinktober so. this will function as that. not really proofread + potentially ooc i have not read black butler in a while so pls don't be a hater <3

part of my halloween series !

ever since you were a child, you’d heard tales of devils at the crossroads.

stories that had been passed through the generations, stories of deals that could be made with a crossroads devil, for those crazy enough to take the chance. for the small price of an eternity in hell, your soul could be exchanged for whatever you desired.

that price was nothing, really, for those who were desperate enough. and you were desperate enough.

you sat, humming to yourself in the dirt, your belongings two feet below the ground, along with the rest of the items necessary for the ritual. it had not been cheap or easy to find the incantation that would summon a demon, but for all the things you lacked, money had never been one of them.

now, though, as you waited, your skirts stained dark shades of brown from the mud, you began to wonder if you’d been swindled.

shivering, you climbed to your feet, your boots even dustier than before. the sun had long since set, and it was frigid, much colder out in the middle of the countryside than it was in the city.

nothing was coming — it was clear to you now. perhaps even your desperation wasn’t enough for the devil to accept another soul to his overpopulated hell.

you frowned and turned to make your way back to your haunted house, when you noticed a shadowy figure flickering in the corner of your vision. you blinked, suddenly swept up in a mixture of uncertainty.

“who’s there?” you asked, stupidly, knowing that either way, death had come for you.

the shadow emerged, the smiling figure of someone who looked much more a man than a devil, had it not been the shade of his irises, the cruel smile that curled on his lips. his dark hair swept across his forehead, gracefully framing his features.

“you called for me,” he said simply, taking the short steps towards you.

you wrinkled your eyebrows together, not expecting the demon to be clad in such formal wear, his coattails flaring out behind him as he bowed.

“you are the one i am to make a deal with?” you asked, sounding not at all confident.

he laughed, a dark sound. “i am. does that surprise you?”

“i expected something… different,” you said, batting your eyes away. it was hard to look at him. you felt hot, just from the intensity of his irises. he was beautiful, painfully so otherworldly you weren't sure if human was the correct way to describe his appearance.

but wasn’t that what was always said about demons?

“i want you to kill my husband,” you said simply, sparing no room for lifeless conversation.

the demon made a face, but it was not of alarm, more so out of boredom. “oh. is that all? such mundane tasks you humans send me on. it's always dramatics you must resort to.”

“i’ll be damned to hell, whether i kill him myself or not." you shrugged, the judgement annoying you, coming from a demon. “i’d just rather not get my hands dirty. wouldn't want to end up in prison.”

at that, his interest was piqued again, like you’d illuminated another part of the human existence he had not seen before. “you would trade eternal suffering for a few kind years on earth?”

“i’m already suffering,” you said flatly, not allowing emotion to overtake you. “i want you to kill my husband, and i don’t want to be questioned for it. heart failure would do nicely, i think.”

the demon, with his startling beautiful eyes, so red and alluring, considered. “i don’t believe you are in any position to make requests of that nature.”

you frowned, and took a step back. “well, this is a contract, is it not? i’m allowed to make stipulations, as far as i’m aware.”

he blinked, then laughed, before studying you like you were a mouse he was dangling by the tail. “hmm.” the demon considered your words. “there is an extra price to pay, for those who want to make such specifications.”

he leaned forward, his vast form towering over you, even in a human vessel. still you ignored his attempt at intimidation and swallowed, sticking your chin out to glare up at him. “i’m willing to pay it,” you said, sniffing.

“alright, then,” he grinned, wiping his fingers across your lips. “we have a deal.”

the gravity of his words didn’t strike you in that moment, the exchange purely business, not at all the matters of life and death. you nodded, and stuck out your hand to shake his — that’s how deals were made, weren't they? but the demon surprised you by grabbing your hand, pulling you towards him and slamming your lips against his own.

a choked sound came out of you as your eyes went wide, and for a moment, you panicked. but the feeling of his mouth was so soft, the taste so heavenly for a creature of hell, that you found yourself relaxing into it, feeling blissful in the grasp of his cold hands.

the kiss was over before it even began, and he pulled off your mouth with a pop, leaving you breathless, chasing after him.

“i’ll collect the first of my payments at a later date,” he said, mouth spreading to reveal his sharp teeth. “expect me again soon.”

two days had passed since you made the deal, and you continued your normal routine, abiding by the sharp stipulations set by your cruel husband, like nothing had really changed at all.

and maybe it hadn’t. maybe everything the demon had said was a lie.

for some reason, despite his promise of collecting payment later, you’d believed the deal would come to fruition immediately. that you’d go home and your husband would be cast away from this earth, a nuisance you no longer had to worry about.

that hadn’t been the case though — he still slept beside you in your marital bed, a lump of apathy, night after night.

tonight, though, promised something different. you were used to your husband doing with you as he pleased, but it felt off, this time. he was far too tender with you, his cock sliding in and out of you, as if trying to ease you gently out of sleep.

you let out a breath, still stuck somewhere in between a dream. you weren’t sure what time it was, or when you had started to stir, but there was a wetness between your legs that hadn’t been there when you’d fallen asleep, and a cold hand on your bare hip.

your night gown had been hiked up to your stomach, the folds of cotton rubbing against your naval. a hand crept around your hips, sinking down between your legs, where you were already growing wetter.

the touch was frigid as it came in contact with your already aching clit, matching the pulse of the length that slid in and out of you. you let out a whine, jolting your hips into the touch, before your eyes flew open, and you were no longer asleep. realization dawned upon you.

“that’s it, little one,” a soft purr melted into your ears, cold fingers tracing achingly slow circles into your clit. “i was wondering how long it would take you to wake up.”

you were caught in between alarm and bliss, the room still hauntingly dark. it took a moment for your eyes to adjust, and you fell into the body that was pressed up behind you, lean and long.

your legs had been maneuvered differently from when you’d first slept, one lifted upwards to give the man — thing — behind you a better position, filling you deeply.

“s-sebastian—” you groan, not quite a question, as you clenched around his cock, thick and long. even though you’d never agreed to this, well… it was better than anything your husband had ever given you.

the husband that was staring at you, wide-eyed, petrified to death in the bed next to you.

the finality of his life almost killed your steadily growing orgasm, his round dead eyes staring, unblinking, back at you. but a deep thrust inside of you reminded you that it was your husband, not the demon, that had been the root of all your miseries.

you moaned, not bothering to hide the satisfaction you felt.

“you’re so much wetter than i imagined,” sebastian said, cooing in your ear, something between mockery and praise. you could hear the smirk on his face, even if you couldn’t see it. “such a pretty little thing. perhaps i’ll keep you all to myself for the next few years. my little human pet.”

you grabbed at his arm, nails digging into the cold flesh, as sebastian continued rubbing circles in your aching pussy.

the demon laughed, humming thoughtfully, almost gleeful. “i think that’s a fair trade, don’t you? more than fair.” his long fingers brushed your nipple, and you almost came on the spot.

it was too much. too fast. you weren’t even sure how long he’d been fucking you, while you were still asleep. enough to have you near an orgasm.

“maybe i’ll even let you live your whole life, if you promise to be my good little pet until the day you die.”

you moaned again, louder this time, and found yourself enthusiastically agreeing. “y-yes,” you said pathetically, not bothering to question your habit of making deals with devils. “whatever you want.” you could feel your eyes rolling back into your head, your mind going numb from the feeling.

he laughed at you, mockingly, and squeezed you harder, painfully, this time. but it didn’t erase the pleasure that dug deep into you, and you arched into him, on the edge of collapsing.

“so weak,” he hummed, his breath ghosting across your ear. it was deep, hauntingly so, like a song rising up from hell itself. “humans always lose themselves so easily to the pleasures of the flesh. i wonder how long it would take me to break you.”

“please,” you said, your voice small as you whined, feeling so small in his grasp, his presence overpowering.

perhaps he had nestled himself deeply into your mind, breaking through the walls that kept temptation out. but giving yourself to a demon felt better than it ever had with your husband.

“please?” he mocked darkly. “i’ll except better than that.”

“please, sebastian,” you said, repeating the word over and over again, giving into your desire, exactly as he’d anticipated. ‘i’ll do whatever you want. forever. please, just let me come.”

“such a good little pet.” you could feel his smile curling around your ear, his pace overwhelming. a string of praises laced with contempt left his lips, but they were lost to you, your senses lost to everything but the feeling of him inside you.

you gave into your pleasure, a sharp cry leaving your throat as you clench around him, breathing heavily. sebastian came inside, his cold chest pressed tightly against your back. not a sound left him; he was so quiet it was almost as if he wasn’t there at all.

you didn’t speak, and laid still, panting on the bed, trying to collect yourself.

he slid out of you, the only indication that there was another presence there. an ache in your muscles had already begun; you’d have that, at least, to remind yourself that it was real. but slowly, the demon’s touch became less tangible, as if he were fading away into the night.

“when will you be back?” you said, quiet, too afraid to turn and face him. you’d seen him as a human, but you weren’t sure what you’d do if you turned, and that was not the form he had taken. it scared you, as much as it thrilled you.

“when i please,” was all he gave you. “my side of the deal is complete.

“will it be like this every time?” you swallowed, not sure if you wanted him inside of you while you were sleeping, night after night. but you weren’t sure if you wanted him facing you, staring at you with those dark eyes of his as he sank into you. “sebastian?” you said quietly, shifting in the bed to face him.

but there was nothing there, the space empty, and no life was in that room but you.

you swallowed, shut your eyes, and went to sleep.

thank you for reading ❤︎ this one was inspired by episode 2x08 of supernatural, with the same title <3

[niilue]

Congrats on 3k!!

Could I get Sebastian + pegging + pampering with a female reader plz? 💗💗💗

⎯ sebastian michaelis • kuroshitsuji

cw: dom reader, female reader, pegging, pampering, very sensitive sebastian, mention of mistress, third person pov

niilue's 3k event

sebastian's mistress, (name), wastes no time in undressing him, roughly pulling off his clothes and tossing them aside. her hands trail down his chest, over his hardening nipples, and further south, over his stiffening cock. she licks her lips as she takes in the sight of him, knowing exactly how to make him lose control. she straddles him, positioning her wet center against his throbbing length, and slowly begins to lower herself onto him. the feel of her warm, wet skin sliding down his shaft is almost too much for him to bear.

as she begins to ride him, her breasts bounce freely, teasing him with each thrust. she leans forward, her weight pressing him deeper into the mattress, and takes hold of his hands, lacing their fingers together above his head. with each powerful stroke, she drives herself harder onto him, grinding her hips against his pelvis. she can feel the strap-on against his ass, teasing the entrance, and she knows he's ready for her. with a sharp thrust, she pushes the head of the toy against his entrance, slowly penetrating him as he arches his back in anticipation.

the sensation is overwhelming, both foreign and yet somehow familiar. she begins to thrust harder, faster, feeling him stretch and yield to her command. his moans fill the room, echoing off the walls as she takes him roughly, claiming him as her own. she can feel the tension building inside him, and she knows he's close. with one final, brutal thrust, she pushes him over the edge, feeling him tense and spasm beneath her. as he comes, she holds him tight, rocking gently against him as he releases himself into oblivion.

as sebastian's orgasm subsides, (name) continues to ride him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. the strap-on feels incredible inside him, stretching him in ways he never knew possible. she leans down, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispers, "that's it, baby. take it all." her hips buck wildly, driving the toy deeper and harder, triggering pleasure centers within him that make his toes curl and his fists clench.

"oh god, mistress…" sebastian moans, his voice strained as he feels her ride him harder. he clenches his fists in the sheets, feeling her breasts brush against his skin with each thrust. "please, don't stop…" he arches his back, pushing himself deeper into the mattress, needing the release that she's teasing him with. with each passing moment, the strap-on feels more and more intense, stretching and filling him in a way that he's never experienced before.

as their bodies move together in a frenzy of passion, he feels his own climax building, threatening to break free at any moment. "i'm close…" he gasps, his hips bucking up to meet hers. "i'm so close…" he can feel his orgasm building, the sensation growing more and more intense with each passing second. "please, let me come…" he begs, his voice cracking with desire.

with each thrust, the head of the strap-on massages his prostate, sending waves of intense pleasure coursing through his body. he feels like he's on the brink of another orgasm, but this time it's different. it's like his body is being rewired, reprogrammed to accept this new sensation, this new kind of love.

as (name) picks up the pace, their sweat-slicked bodies slide against each other in perfect harmony. she reaches down, grasping his cock, which is still semi-hard, and begins to stroke it in time with her thrusts. "that's it, baby," she urges, "come for me again." and he does, his orgasm crashing over him like a wave, his body convulsing as he releases himself deep inside her.

finally, spent and satisfied, (name) collapses onto him, their chests heaving in unison. she kisses him tenderly, her breath warm against his skin, and whispers, "you're such a good butler. so very good." as he lies there, catching his breath, he can't help but feel a sense of euphoria washing over him. he's never been so thoroughly and completely taken care of, and it feels… perfect.

(name) rolls off of sebastian, her breathing heavy as she lays beside him. she strokes his hair, her fingers lingering on his sweaty brow. "there's my good boy," she coos. "you did so well." she kisses him softly, her lips lingering on his for a moment before pulling away. "now, it's time for you to relax."

she stands up, walking over to a chest at the foot of the bed and retrieves a warm, damp cloth. she returns to the bedside, gently wiping away the sweat from sebastian's face and chest. as she does so, her touch is soothing, almost maternal. "there's my good boy," she repeats, her voice soft and soothing. "that's it, just relax."

sebastian feels himself drifting deeper into relaxation as she continues to tend to him. his body aches pleasantly, and he feels a sense of contentment he's never experienced before. he watches her as she works, marveling at the way she seems to radiate warmth and love. when she's finished, she climbs back into bed, spooning him from behind. she wraps her arms around him, pulling him close, and nuzzles her head against his shoulder.

"there now," she murmurs, her breath tickling his neck. "you're all cleaned up, and you're safe with me." sebastian feels a tear slip down his cheek, followed by a shuddering sob. he hadn't realized how much he'd needed to hear those words, how much he'd needed to feel this kind of love and acceptance. (name) holds him tighter, kissing his shoulder gently, and whispers, "shhh… it's okay, my love. you're safe with me." and in that moment, sebastian knows he truly is.

word count: 950

[ciciyup]

The Maid.

cw: nsfw, obscenity, cheating, blowjob, masturbation, dirty talk, slight overstimulation if you close your eyes, power imbalance.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

Standing on tiptoe you shake the shelf of the library that is quite high for your bad luck, at least this was better than cleaning in the kitchen. Being in the library was not so bad, it was quite quiet, you could work calmly without having to be rushed by the other servants or get so dirty. You stretch your arm a little further to get behind the shelf where there is a little dust and some cobwebs visible, your duster successfully catches them leaving the furniture cleaner than it seemed. You can feel a light scent of cologne flood your nostrils, you don't know it, but you know it is extremely expensive, a soft and pleasant aroma. You don't dare to turn around because you know that he is behind you, no word is said and his movements are as silent and fast as if he hadn't been there in the first place. Behind you he looks at your back and his eyes scan the worn maid uniform, did it look shorter today? Vincent smiles quietly to himself and the sound of his shoes hitting the finely decorated floor tiles can be heard all around the place. He carefully approaches the shelf you are cleaning on and places a red hardcover book along with the others following the pattern of books of the same size and color. His eyes observe you in detail, wanting to analyze you, his lips widen in a soft and reassuring smile, but the least you feel when you are near him is calm.

—Am I not interfering? —Vincent asks still looking at her with strangely kind eyes that do nothing but seem like he is hiding something. You quickly shake your head although you shake your head again this time with your voice not wanting to seem too rude to your master, after all he had given you a chance to work in his mansion, the least you could do was be polite.

—No, don't worry, Earl Phantomhive, I was just finishing up —you shake your head a couple more times before standing properly, your feet starting to hurt after standing on tiptoe for so long after cleaning that shelf.

—Excellent. You see, I need you to clean my desk in the office, it's a bit untidy underneath. Maybe after your main tasks —he asks, his soft voice echoing in your head.

—Of course, master —losing count of how many times you had already nodded, you do it again. You answer him obediently which makes him smile even more and now it's him who nods and then leaves.

You watch him leave with elegant steps, you observe his expensive suit and how well it looked on him, a perfectly ironed black suit without a single stain, you watch how he caresses his son's head affectionately before going up the stairs to return to his workplace and his son laughs jovially leaving by his side. For some reason ever since Vincent Phantomhive had hired you, after you had almost begged him with your words how difficult it was to find a job in your circumstances, as the days passed the tension between you was more than evident to anyone who paid attention, but most of the time it only came from him. Every time he was close he would very discreetly brush against you and he found a way to do it perfectly to end up apologizing as if it had been an accident or like when he watched you from afar while you were doing your chores, like that time at the family dinner when you had to help serve the dishes with other servants and when serving him his hand brushed your thigh or maybe the many times he spoke to you in a peculiar way that he didn't do with any other servant. You were aware that he had a family, two adorable children and a beautiful wife, but still your mind couldn't help but wander and imagine what it would feel like to touch his hands, they looked warm, kiss his seductive lips and other things that a lady shouldn't think about in those times. You push away any other thoughts before they get worse and decide to continue with your tasks. The bookshelf was already clean, the next thing that followed was… oh, yes, the kitchen.

When you knock on the door you can hear a “come in” from inside the room, with that signal you open the door and close it behind you, as you approach the desk you see Vincent sitting there reading some papers, you can’t understand what he says so you clear your throat before speaking and bowing slightly.

—Earl Phantomhive, I’ve come to clean your desk, I’m sorry for the inconvenience —you watch him and for a few moments his eyes don’t seem to leave his papers, but he seems to listen to you before turning to you and giving you a nod. Bending down to the level of the bottom of the desk, you notice the dust and small mold spots in some parts, sighing silently you grab a white cloth and begin to remove the stains, forced to go further into the back of the desk. You jump a little when you see Phantomhive's legs crossed in front of your face, his black, polished shoes make it so you can see part of your face in them, you try not to pay attention to that and continue with your work, you jump again when his legs separate and open a little revealing a not very marked bulge between his crotch, you swallow quickly and your body tenses when he says your name.

—Yes, master? —You turn to him and your head peeks out from under the desk as you look at him expectantly.

—There's dust on my clothes —His eyes look at you and then point to his pants, there were traces of dust on his thighs and legs, he seemed to have gotten a little dirty while you were shaking.

—I'm sorry, Earl Phantomhive, I... I clean it? —You ask with doubt and embarrassment in your tone of voice, which makes him raise an eyebrow and smile.

—Yes, clean it —he watches you carefully as you move closer under the desk until you reach his pants and carefully begin to wipe the dust with another clean cloth.

He seems amused, but you think the opposite, you are suffering an internal attack at this, but you decide to hide it with your modest facade. You finish slower than you thought and retreat from under the desk, straightening up you shake your uniform a little, removing the dust and dirt from the floor. You are picking up the cleaning supplies when he stops you dead in your tracks. Your name comes out of his lips again making your chest tighten.

—Come, come here —his voice seemed more melodious than usual, his eyes seem disturbing as he watches you from his seat.

—Yes, master? —standing in front of him you play with the tip of your uniform before looking at him again.

—I want you to do me a favor… I've been feeling quite overwhelmed with so much work, I need to relax, could you help me with that? —his eyes scan you as he leans his back against the chair.

—Do you need me to get you something? —you ask hesitantly. It's a stupid question, his eyes seem to want something more, it's always like that, it seemed like he was playing a game with you. Standing up, he takes a few steps towards you and looks at you with a charming smile.

—You're not silly, are you? —he asks, looking into her eyes, his smile widening even more.

—No, master —you deny murmuring, your gaze deviates for a moment, but remains with his.

—Then you know what I want —his voice suddenly rises at his words, he smiles when you nod. His hand runs along the bottom of your uniform and lifts it up a little before looking at you. You look back at him as you begin to squat down to unbutton his pants, carefully freeing his cock that seems to get bigger the more you touch him.

You hold him in your hands and pump him a little before caressing his tip with your fingertips, you stick your tongue out and lick around it, your hands carefully masturbating him while you suck on the tip, he tenses up even while standing and one hand rests against his desk. With more confidence you take as much of his cock as you can into your mouth sucking hard, your tongue makes small circles around the tip making him gasp and bring a hand to your hair caressing it. You spit a little to better prepare him, your head moves up and down with quick movements.

—T-that's enough —he stops you with a small low growl, as if it had been difficult for him to separate himself from the good moment. Grabbing your hand to stand you up and push you without so much force against the desk.

The tip of the furniture touches your stomach and you feel his hands on your back, shamelessly lifting the skirt of your uniform removing your panties and leaving them aside, he looks at your hungry and soaked pussy that seemed to clench with nothingness waiting for something. He takes two fingers gently caressing your clit and inner lips before inserting them one by one, moving his fingers in and out with ease. You gasp loudly at the feel of his long, warm fingers fucking your pussy. He plays with you, for a moment he is accommodating and then stops abruptly and goes heartbreakingly slow. You let out a moan of annoyance when he stops again and pulls his fingers out, stroking your clit a few more times to try and hold you back.

—You must be patient —he declares. Positioning himself behind you, he grabs his cock and runs it over your pussy letting it get covered in your juices, an obscene sound is heard when he enters and you feel like it could be heaven. His hands rest on your waist to guide his movements as he watches your pussy swallow his entire cock and your ass slam against his pelvis over and over again, a gasp leaving his lips at the sight as he begins to go at a faster pace. —Silence, do you want us to be discovered? Hm? —His tone of voice is more playful and he tries to silence you by squeezing his hands tighter against your waist when he hears your loud moan.

At this point it was inevitable, his cock was going in and out of you non-stop, his balls were hitting your clit, his hands were moving from touching your waist to touching your breasts carelessly, you felt like you were about to explode. What would happen if his sweet wife walked through the door and saw her husband with his cock buried deep in the maid's pussy? It would be a scandal.

—I'm going to fill you up, fuck, it must be lucky to have a little slut like you in my home. If you’re good, maybe I can use you again —he murmurs against your ear just before he releases his load and fills your walls with white.

You clench your pussy at his words as you feel his hot cum paint your insides and continue to fuck you even though he’s already emptied himself. You moan as your pussy tightens around his cock again and you cum hard, your orgasm sweeping over you leaving you lying face down against the desk. He pulls his cock out of your pussy, watching as his cum drips out of it and some of it falls onto the polished, shiny floor. Putting his cock away and buttoning his pants back up, he sits back down in his chair, not even bothering to help you, instead going back to arranging his papers and reading them. Your legs shake as you put your underwear back on and straighten your uniform.

—You must not question me here, understand? This will remain between us, without any indiscretions —he says, looking at her out of the corner of his eye while writing something down on a piece of paper. Your head moves slightly at his words, you don't get to nod but you don't ignore him either. —Anyway, your services have been very well received. Come back here regularly... —he falls silent at her last words and replaces them by quickly shaking his head —I'm going to need you for tomorrow, is that okay? —his gaze turns to you, this time giving you his full attention.

—It will be a pleasure, master. —you answer naturally, obediently, without protesting, not that it was a problem for you.

—You may leave now. —his gaze leaves yours, returning to the paperwork on his desk and with a bow you open the door leaving the place.

Vincent's smile never fades, even after you left the room, he continues to smile hiddenly against his papers. What an obedient maid he had at his disposal, hiring you had definitely been a good choice.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

🏹a/n: I don't know if it's what I expected, but I had it in drafts and I wanted to finish it.

—cici🏹

[sunflowerrosewood]

Kinks HC ~ Sebastian Michaelis

Author's Note: Since my other account @cheekyredwillow got deleted. I am adding some of my favorite fanfictions to this account and revamping this one with new ones. I hope to make an actual list of fandoms I am still a fan of! NO requests for the time being.

Warnings: It's in the name. This will contain filthy smut. Minors DNI! Read at your own risk. Discussing types of kinks

~~~~

~The list of kinks of Sebastian is a bit long

~Major Sir Kink

~Moan Sir out and he will immediately take you wherever you two are

~Call him Sir outside the bedroom and a lustful kiss will be placed on your lips 

~Will only allow you to call him Sir unless you want to be edged

~Which if you are a bad girl, it brings out another kink of edging

~He would make it torturous 

~He will find ways to make it through the day

~Making sure to edge you all day and all night

~Sometimes he will do it longer if you refuse to call him Sir

~You've lasted a week once

~While you are talking to Ciel, he'll bring you to an almost orgasm

~Before he backs off

~Loves seeing your cum drip down your legs

~Your soaked panties

~Until the next night and you are begging for some sort of attention

~Begging for him to take you

~Another kink of his is marking your body

~You are his

~No other damn demon will take you away

~So he leaves nasty purple hickies up and down your neck

~And always leave a mark on your shoulder to tell demons to back the fuck off

~Would you believe another kink is just him buried deep in your pussy?

~The hot cavern holding his large and thick cock tight makes his head spin

~He loves when your pussy automatically milks him and has the need for his seed

~So he'll make sure that he is deep in you before spurting his seed

~Cock warming is another kink

~Anytime he is finished with his duties with Ciel, he'll be balls deep in your pussy

~And wont thrust but just hold you

~Which actually makes you fall asleep faster 

~A different kink of his is when you dig your nails in his hair or back

~Sure it causes him some pain

~But damn

~Your eyes are rolled back

~And you have your nails dug in

~Just causes him to pound you harder 

~Where he can hear your moans

~Another major kink is a mix between public masturbation and public humiliation 

~Basically it is the morning after you two had sex and you are physically limping around the manor

~You are whimpering softly 

~You are still extremely sensitive from the night

~And your eyes are still blown wide with lust

~Just for him

~He can touch you and you immediately want more

~He loves seeing other demons growling in jealousy 

~Because you have no underwear on and his cum is dripping down your legs 

~Your nipples are erect under your dress

~His scent all over you 

~To show you are his

~And your pussy is still soaked in your own cum and his

~Ready for the next round 

~He's played with bondage with you

~But only likes when you are tied to the bed where you cant touch him

~And you are pleading to hold on

~So not a major kink

~The last kink is lace

~He loves when you wear lace bras, lace thongs, lace lingerie 

~Sometimes will make you wear lace outfits around the manor

~Ciel is clueless why you have been wearing more lace

~But Sebastian is horny and hard

~Just waiting to pound you deep while you wear your lace outfit

~Looking so innocent

~But saying such vulgar things

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

Edge You To Death

Pairing: Undertaker x AFAB! Reader or Undertaker x Fem! Reader.

Summary: Undertaker loves ruining your orgasms.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Casual sex, Undertaker and Reader have a weird ‘situationship’, Age gap relationship, Mention of pedophila (not in reference to Undertaker! UT is not a pedo!), Reader is unaware Undertaker is a reaper or of what he does for Ciel, Reader has MY personal thoughts on pedophila (I don’t think they are controversial but just in case you don’t wanna here it skip the introduction), Oral sex (fem receiving), Edging, Daddy kink.

Writing Time: 1 hour.

Word Count: 1,317.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 20.

A/N:

I kinda forgot wtf I was doing here.

Most of my Kinktober works were written well in advance, but this wasn’t one of them. I wrote this 2 days before it was due. My requests are pilling up but I should start prioritising these now. I doubt I’ve gotten that Matthew Patel request done yet, I planned to do that when I got the requester’s first message about it, sent the same day I got the request, but not anymore. Sounds a lot like a request got ages ago on my previous account but deleted when I started feeling harassed by the requester. This is more for the Matthew Patel requester than anyone else but yeah… don’t harass people about requests especially if it hasn’t been that long since you sent it. Everyone, harass me over a request and I’ll just delete it. You can send one reminder after a week and that’s it. Anymore and I delete. I usually have requests done in a week or two and those kinds of messages just destroy my motivation.

Anyway! Please enjoy this Undertaker smut.

Here are my other Kinktober 2023 works.

—-///—-

You had been feeling dam good since you started sleeping with the Undertaker.

You had new relationship jitters, even if it wasn’t really a relationship. He was what you had fantasied about for years. An older gentleman who was kind and treated you like a Queen, but also open about wanting to ravishing you. With his age also came along a lot of life and sexual experience, a lot more than you had. He never mocked you for knowing less than him, he was just happy you wanted to know and happily taught you a lot.

Whilst age gap relationships have always been common and considered normal prior to the Victorian era, it was slowly becoming distasteful. Something many were unhappy with but also many other who were happy. Undertaker, years ago, would have been in favour this but with you now… he was in the middle and uncomfortable with it. Surely you and his relationship was ok because you was definitely an adult.

You were pretty set in stone on the matter. To you, age gap relationships were bad, unless it was you. You were a young woman who would never say no to an older man, even when you was a girl. You knew your exes were absolutely pedos, but you didn’t care as long as it was just you they were after. And no you didn’t consider yourself a victim.

You didn’t think of Undertaker in the same way though. You was an adult when you met him therefore wasn’t bad for perusing you. Well, you perused him but it didn’t matter.

Right know you was doing some dusting in the front of Undertaker’s shop, he was in the back. The first thing you took notice of when you first met your lover… was how nasty his shop is. It’s always covered in dirt and stinked of death. Obviously it would smell of death, it’s a funeral home, but the dirt was unnecessary and you was surprised that Undertaker had tried to do something about the smell. You figured he’s probably gotten used to it now and gone nose blind.

Once you had cleaned to a satisfying amount, you heard the bell go. You looked up and saw the familiar Earl Phantomhive and his butler. The young boy always looked so dam miserable, it depressed you. You didn’t like interacting with either of them and they never seemed to want your help, so you called your bedmate.

Undertaker came into the room, happy to deal with the Phantomhive and his butler. You was aware the two engaged in a different kind of business than coffins or funeral services, but it was none of your business what their business was. So you wasn’t going to ask…

Instead you headed out of the room and upstairs to bed, it was late and you knew Undertaker would join you after he was done with his ‘business’.

—-///—-

“Sort out the Earl?” You asked.

“Yes, Dear.” Undertaker smiled as he climbed into his bed, next you.

You sat up immediately and glared at him, “How many times have I told you Undie?! No sleeping in your day clothes!”

He laughed as you pushed him out of his own bed. Yeah, Undertaker had a bad habit of sleeping in his day clothes. He didn’t own PJs until you came into his life, nearly a year ago now.

“Ok! Ok!” Undertaker walked over to his drawers to fish out his sleepwear.

Once he did, he placed them on the end of the bed and looked down at you. You gave him a small smile, suddenly remembering this was his home and his bed and who are you say anything about how he sleeps? After all, you’re not even dating.

Undertaker grinned widely at you and slowly started removing his cloak. Ah, he was trying to indicate something.

He slowly stripped completely in front of you before getting back on the bed and crawling onto you. You kissed his lip gently and took hold of his arms, but Undertaker shook your hold off his arms and grabbed your face to pull you even closer to him, deeping your kiss. He quickly slipped his tongue into your mouth, desperate for a makeout session.

You moaned in between the kisses, you were started to feel a growing sensation in between your legs. If not dealt with quickly, it would become uncomfortable. Luckily for you, Undertaker could sense your arousal and was more than willing to help.

He let go of your lips and before you could even whine or complain, he was pulling the duvet and sleep shorts down and licking your lower regions. You made your hands comfortable, pulling on the pillow under your head and proped up your legs and planted your feet into the bed.

Undertaker ate you out like a mad mad. Sucking, licking, spitting and groaning like crazy. Your pussy and it’s sweet smell made him act unusual, way less calm and in control than usual. This was something you was proud of. You had the power (or pussy) to make Undertaker lose all composure.

You started to feel less prideful about your achievement as you started to feel yourself losing to Undertaker’s tongue. Your whimpered had become cries and moans, you begged him for release but you should of known better. It would be a long while before you got that.

Undertaker grinned evily against your cunt then looked up you, just go get a glimpse of your flustered expression. Having wait himself for release was a sacrifice he was willing to make if he got to see you cry and beg him for climax. He absolutely got a weird power trip from it.

“Oh please… oh please Daddy, I need to cum now!”

“Nu uh uh! You don’t get to cum until I say so, Dearie!”

You were still staring up at the ceiling and unable to look down, but you didn’t need to look down to know Undertaker was wearing his usual evil wicked grin. He always had that look when he was planning to edge you to death.