Doing the nasty with Undy

Finally a place for Nsfw UndertakerxReader content ‼️🔞‼️

[doing-the-nasty-with-undy]

WELCOME !

This blog gathers exclusively NSFW Undertaker x Reader content. (Maybe some fluff here and there but not much…)

Here you will find :

fanfics

one shots

head canons

from different writers, and also some drawings inspired by them.

I am NOT the creator, only a reblogger except for the drawings.

YOU HAVE TO BE 18+, DO NOT READ OR INTERACT IF IT’S NOT THE CASE.

My main blog is Tiffany’s Boudoir https://tiffany-s-boudoir.tumblr.com/

[gatorgrumbles]

Undertaker is my life ok (edited to add more scars)

[doing-the-nasty-with-undy]

This one totally belongs here …

[ulquiorrapleasecallmetrash]

I have a request:

Can you write rough sex with Undertaker and female reader? The reader can be a Shinigami like him!

I think the guy needs more love

Fandom: black butler/ kuroshitsuji

Warnings: spanking, rough sex, penis to vagina sex, dirty talk, edging, teasing, porn with no plot

rated: 18+

Admin Wisteria: here you goooooo!

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Ignited (Undertaker x Shinigami! Reader)

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“You’re so tight around my cock,my  dear.” Undertaker chuckles darkly as he slips his length inside of your wanton pussy. You were on all fours, back facing him, one of his favorite positions to have you in. “Undertaker, you’re so… mmm!” You moan in pleasure  the feeling of his length stretching your core. “You look so beautiful stretch out for me my love.” He chuckles darkly, not moving to further tease you. “Undertaker, please…” You whimpered, trying to move yourself, you needed friction, you needed him. 

“You want me to move my dear?” He teases you, you could feel him hardening all the way into your pussy which made you moan. “Yes please…” Your cries became more apparent. Undertaker slowly moves, but only a little bit to further tease you. “Undertaker… you know what I want so please fuck me..” You looked back at him, your eyes were tearing up, and you looked pathetic waiting for him to fuck you. “You look so adorable like this, begging for me but I’m not convinced.” Your pussy clenched tightly around him as he teased you, which caused him to gasp out loud. His cock twitched inside of you but he was too stubborn to move. “Undertaker..please….” You begin to beg. “I need you to fuck me so bad. You can fuck me however you want, I can take it.” His eyes widened until it grew into a grin. He leaned forward, his cock twitching again. “Oh, is that so my dear?” He chuckles darkly. “However I want?” he said in a seductive whisper which sent shivers down your spine. He kisses and sucks on your neck. “My pleasure then.” He thrusts deep and hard, going slow at first, but picks up the pace of his movements. You begin to moan out, soft at first but gradually becomes louder as he fucks without ease. His cock drilling into you as you clenched around him. “Undertaker! Mmm! You moaned out, as you felt the bed squeak from under you two, you could feel every inch of his hardness inside of you and it felt heavenly. Your green eyes and the glasses that covered them begin to fog. 

“Undertaker, you’re so…rough…” He only chuckles as he pulls on your hair, hard enough to move your head back, you moaned out in pleasure your pussy clenched tighter around him, hitting your g-spot. “Oh but you like that don’t you my dear? You love feeling every inch of me~” He teases you, which makes you drip even more with arousal. “Undertaker…please….” He chuckles darkly, and gradually slows his pace to edge you. “Please what, my love?” He hums. “Ah no! Go back! Go fast please!” You yelped and whined.  Undertaker only chuckles, “Then beg for it my dear.” You moaned out loud pathetically, your body trembling with pure pleasure. “Please fuck me hard, I need you to ruin me!” He chuckles darkly, his hips move in a moderate pace, better, but not what you crave. 

“Undertaker..” You begin to whimper. “Such a needy little thing you are, you want all of my length don’t you?” “Yes..” You whimpered out. He then bends over to your ear to whisper in it. “Then you can have every single inch of it and you will love it.” He thursts again as a increase speed, the bed squeaking louder with each hard and deep thrust, he grunts and moans as he fucks you raw, pulling your hair extra hard then he spanks your ass. “ Ow!”  You exclaimed, shocked but also aroused at his gesture. “You liked that didn’t you my dear? You want me to mark your pretty flesh while I fuck your rough?” He chuckles darkly as he feels your flushed, swolen pussy begging more attention. “Yes! Yes! please!” You begged, tears streaming down your face as he ruthlessly fucks you, each thrust in times with each spank which was harder with each spank, Your butt cheeks were bright red and his hand prints showed the whole tale. The skin on skin contact from the ruthless spanking and the his brutal thrusts was sounding more loud and obscene. “Then come for me, my dear.” He smacks your ass extra hard which made you squirt all over him, your arousal spurting all over his cock, balls and stomach. He moans as you rpussy clenched around him,milking him completely. “Oh… you’re trying to milk me dry? such a good girl.” He grunts one last time, slamming his cock deep into you as he spurts several ropes of cun into yout=r womb, which you could feel all of it. “So…full….ngh…” you whimpered out, enjoying the feeling. The man can only grin, taking the dripping leakage that came from your freshly filled hole and licks his fingers clean. 

“Such a good girl, you took me so well, now, how about we do this again but with your pretty mouth instead?”

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[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)

[doing-the-nasty-with-undy]

Reading some NSFW content…

Expecting for some more…

And finally getting it…

YOU ALL, WONDERFUL CREATORS, PLEASE KEEP WRITING ! KEEP DELIGHTING US !

[ulquiorrapleasecallmetrash]

Could you do headcannons for Undertaker with an s/o who has trouble cumming? 🥺

I love your Black Butler hc and scenarios💖

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Undertaker with an s/o who Has trouble cumming Headcanons + Drabble

Fandom: Black Butler/ Kuroshitsuji

Rated: 18+

Warnings: humping, praise, dirty talk, 18+ content in general

Genre: Smut

Admin Harmony: Wohoo guess who's back? It's me! I wanted to come out strong and I think I did just that baby! Thank you so much for the compliment and I hope you enjoy this!

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᯽Yeah, I understand the frustration of having trouble cumming. 

᯽So once you tell Undertaker about your issue with cumming, he will look rather intrigued. 

᯽ Obviously he will see it as a challenge. 

᯽And you know damn well he is going to try to succeed at doing it. 

᯽So he will suggest doing different things to see what will be the most effective. 

᯽He will finger you, eat you out, use of toys, the list goes  on and on. 

᯽He will also have you try different positions to see what can help too. 

᯽Hell, if there is a very weird or specific kink you have he will indulge in it happily. 

᯽*Cough* bonus if you also have a  spit kink as well.  *cough* 

᯽He loves experimenting and communicating with you. 

᯽He just wants to make sure you are comfortable so he will ask you questions while doing the deed. 

᯽”How does it feel when I touch you here?” “Do you like this, hm?” 

᯽”Tell me all of your fantasies, my love.” 

᯽ If he doesn’t make you cum the first time then he will take note of what to do or what not to do for next time. 

᯽definitely would want to try edging with you. 

᯽He loves edging so he would think it would be fun to edge you. 

᯽Also will love to use sex toys to also help with cumming. 

᯽He is so pro sex toys. 

᯽ Once he finally gets you to cum he will be so happy. 

᯽ He will feel accomplished, and again will take note on what to do next time. 

᯽It’s really all about experimenting and communicating with one other, and he is more than happy to do it with you. 

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You couldn’t help but squirm under his touch as his long, lengthy fingers expertly explored every inch and crevice of your sensitive nub. You weren't exactly sure how he was able to figure out what made you feel this way since you had so much trouble with cumming all by yourself. Your whimpers started to become audible, his fingers plunged deep inside of you, you could feel your arousal dripping from your wet cavern all the way down to his lap which was soaked. 

“You look so adorable like this, my love.” Undertaker teased, slowly curling his fingers to hit your g-spot, feeling your body shake with wanton lust. “Does this feel good, dear? Do you want me to go faster?” Your stream of whimpers sounded pathetic, not being able to speak up properly. “I need you to speak clearly for me. How else am I going to make you cum?” “Y-yes please go faster… I need it.” You pleaded to him, Undertaker let out a chuckle, entertained by how desperate you are for him. “Anything for you, my love.” He hummed, moving his fingers in and out of you softly, then gently moving faster, while curling his fingers inside of you, to make sure  was hitting the right spot. He watch as your arousal continued to leak out, wetting everything that was below you, your pussy clenching around his fingers, “Ah, that’s new my dear. You never reacted like this before. We are getting somewhere.” Then out of nowhere, Undertaker took his fingers right out of you, watching you whine loudly and denial. “Nooo Adrian why? I need you!” You begin to cry, you hated how empty you felt without him, he needed to go back in or you don’t think you will ever get to cum for a very long time. 

“Hush, if you really want to come, then you will have to put more effort into it. Ride my hand like how you would do me, I’m sure you are ready enough to do that.” You weren’t exactly sure if that was true, you didn’t trust yourself with making yourself come. “Go on, if you need any help then I will happily oblige.”

Those words were somehow very comforting to you. Undertaker places his already wet hand in front of you, low enough for you to sit on it. You did exactly that, placing yourself onto him, gasping at the touch of his hand on your warmness. 

“I think you know what you need to do next, don’t be shy, you’re doing wonderful.”

You wrapped both of your arms around him as you gin to grind yourself onto his hand. You begin to move slowly, your grinding was a bit sloppy as you tried to find the right rhythm and pace that could get you off. Then, you begin to move your hips faster, your breathing hitching as your arousal grew more and more, now it seemed that you were leaking even more now, “Ah ah ah, up at me. I want to see your beautiful face as you come on my hand.” His dirty words and silky voice did something to you, which caused you to pick up the pace of your riding. You looked pathetic, but in the cutest way possible. You couldn’t believe that you were about to come just by riding Undertaker’s hand. What sent you over the edge was when he randomly started to rub your sensetive nerves. You halted your movements, moaning as loud as you can, shocked but also very pleased that he started to pleasure you again. Then Undertaker randomly halted his movements, you whined out in frustration. “Now now, you need to also put in work for your orgasm as well, nothing is free, my dear.” You sighed, but you began to move on the palm of his hand again, you needed this, and you will do anything for it. Your hips moved along with the movements of his hands, the friction added something extra. Your streams of moans were music to his ears, his eyes never leaving yours as you finally reached your climax. You cling onto Undertaker, the feeling of euphoria filled every inch of your body as long as your mind. You never wanted this feeling to end but sadly, it did. Once you come off from your high, you begin to pant, not realizing how much of a mess you made Undertaker. 

“My my, that was very intense but it seemed like it worked out tremendously,” He said, looking down at his lap which was soaked in your arousal. You looked down as well, biting your lip out of  embarrassment, “Yeah…. I think so too.” 

[kuroshitsujiheadcanons2]

[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

[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.

[doing-the-nasty-with-undy]

[postingsub4iambored]

Subby Undertaker in the bedroom (1)

Content: Femdom, Collaring, Squirting, Oral (fem receiving)

I think Undie is a switch and an excellent lover who is more than willing to try different things with his partner. This will hopefully be a multi-part series where I describe different scenarios with either a sub or dom Undertaker...

When subbing he would love to have a collar around his neck and be treated with love and care by his dom.

Followed by a bathing session, he wants to be told what to do, he loves giving you oral and making you squirt whilst you pull on his collar. You are seated on the sofa whilst he is down on his knees, eager for your instructions like a good puppy. "You can begin now my love" you say as you spread your legs in front of him. His smile widens and his eyes brighten with arousal. Your moans fill him with joy and giddiness, his big cock is dripping and desperate for attention but at this very moment, your delicious, wet core is only he can think of:

"My beautiful pet, you making me feel so good! I'm going to cum soon!"

"Thank you mistress, you taste so good, please squirt for me!"

His tongue is desperate for your taste, sucking on your sensitive bud and fingering your entrance. Beautiful green, phosphorescent eyes marvelling at the sight of the pleasured look in your face and contorting body. Your breasts are so beautiful, he can't help but reach in with his spare hand to gently squeeze them.

You can feel your orgasm building up and tighten your fists, now entagled with his silky white hair. As you orgasm, he drinks up all your juices with his eyes rolled back and a satisfied moan.

As you recover from your orgasm, there he sits by your feet, waiting (im)patiently for your next orders: "my mistress, what would you like me to do next", he looks at you, eyes full of love and lust...

[melinoelliones]

BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK 

Say hello to my husband <3 I was tryna wait till October to do Black Butler shit but now I gotta…. 

Reminder, how I interpret these characters may be different to how YOU interpret them, don’t jump me if you dislike what I say. X fem and X gn reader

This is more on the Undertaker before his ass takes off the hat side, so the jokey cheeky Undertaker. ALSO MANGA SPOILERS FOR THE LETTER W!! 

Afficher davantage

[sleepingdeath-light]

alternate payment ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (24/12/21)

word count ; 654

content ; mild dacryphilia, wall sex, size kink, scratching, belly bulge, unprotected sex

fandom ; black butler

pairing ; undertaker x female reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

When the overly friendly undertaker had proposed an alternate form of payment, you hadn't expected it to be so... degrading. To have your plentiful petticoats and skirts hiked up to your waist and your bodice pulled down beneath your breasts as you were pressed forwards against the cold wall of his parlour. To have to brace yourself with your palms and turn your face to one side as he roughly pounded into your wet pussy from behind, long nails digging into your hips as he forced you to follow his movements.

But you consoled yourself that this would all be worth it in the end; that you'd be able to recover your decency and reputation using the information that you were selling — nay, gifting — your body for. That you'd be able to avenge your husband and, perhaps, re-earn your spot in heaven beside him after this dip in morality was over.

So, with a renewed sense of certainty, you allowed yourself to give in and just enjoy the moment.

Enjoy what he was doing to you. Enjoy everything that you'd been without since your husband's passing: the feeling of a long, thick, heavy cock stretching you to the brink and filling you so beautifully that you when you reached down to adjust the hem of your bodice, pressing it down to stop it from slipping further, you could feel the outline of him through your stomach; the feeling of calloused fingers toying with your body, one reaching up to play with your nipples and the other reaching between your spread legs to start rubbing your aching clit; the feeling of teeth nipping at the curve of your throat, punctuating each brief bite with a crude compliment that had your skin burning and your eyes watering.

'You make a convincing whore, lady,' he practically growled against the shell of your ear, dextrous tongue darting out to briefly lick it followed by a quiet giggle when he felt you shudder, 'could've had me fooled,'

'You cry so prettily,' he remarked, forcing you to turn your head to face him as best you could, yellow-green eyes gleaming darkly through his long silver fringe, 'I can't wait to hear you sob.'

'You take me so well, such an eager little pussy,'

'You're being so loud, do you want everyone in London to know what a slut you are?'

Those amongst other such cruel sentiments slipped from his grinning lips, each one making you whimper and tremble — feeling oh so very small and vulnerable beneath his shockingly strong frame and unrelenting grip. Though you couldn't bring yourself to keep focusing on what he was saying when you were so close to release, spurred on by the lewd wet sound of him fucking you and the maddeningly deep and quick pace of his thrusts.

Then, with a well-timed bite to the skin just below your ear, you were sent helplessly tumbling over the edge of your climax. Heart pounding, lungs burning and vision blurring and speckled with white as you sobbed and whimpered and moaned — a string of words falling from bitten lips that sounded like something between a prayer and utter nonsense. Your cheeks were wet with tears, which the undertaker gladly licked up (moaning at the taste) and you could feel your slick gushing out of your sensitive, fluttering pussy and covering his cock and your thighs in an uncomfortable layer of wetness — a layer that continued to grow and spread as he continued to pound into your spent cunt.

And, through the haze of your orgasm and the growing sense of overstimulation, your muddled mind was only able to register a single thought beyond the overlapping sensations. That he wasn’t going to finish and give you what you needed until he was satisfied — and that he didn’t seem to be reaching that point anytime soon.

Though, strangely enough, you didn’t really find yourself caring all that much.

[achillescomehome]

pay me back | undertaker x f!reader

title; pay me back

warnings; mentions of pregnancy/forced pregnancy. some implied non/dub-con. major teasing. humiliation kink. unprotected sex (wrap ur willy before u do the silly!). finishing inside. toys (nipple/clit clamps). undertaker being sort of cruel. degradation/slut shaming. desk sex/coffin sex. vibrator. major possessiveness from ut. use of titles (sir). definite bdsm. brief bondage. implied murder of someone else. overstimulation.

summary; you're a noblewoman with a job to report back information to the queen, and the mysterious undertaker is your informant. your usual payment is sex, but after you go to a different undertaker for information, he gets angry and decides to teach you a lesson by playing a little game with you.

song inspo; dangerous (for your entertainment also works well)

word count; 1.8k

notes; i've said this before and i will say it again. it is a federal crime undertaker does not exist. also it’s 4am, i’m tired and it’s not beta read, so i apologize if it seems rushed or underwritten.

The shop was quiet when you stepped in, and you blinked to adjust your eyes to the darkness. "Undertaker?" You called, glancing about.

"So you've finally shown your face. I was wondering when you would be brave enough to come back here after your little betrayal."

Shit. He knew.

"You weren't home—"

A hand shot from the darkness and pulled you to the nearest coffin. Unbeknownst to you, while talking, he had locked the door and turned the sign to closed. He wasn't about to have this time interrupted. "You could have come by later, or waited for me," his voice growled in your ear. Deft hands made quick work of pulling your skirts up to your waist. He pressed his knee between your legs, holding your hands behind your back. "Instead, someone decided to go to another shop for information, and if a little birdie told me right, even flirted."

"I didn't! I was only asking for further information on the recent murders—"

"Hush, doll, I'm the one talking."

You shivered as a cold nail ran up the back of your leg, then lightly flicked your womanhood. "Did you show that other undertaker your pussy? Perhaps you just showed off your cleavage, hoping he would give you anything you wanted."

You swallowed.

A light smack to your thigh told you he wanted an answer now. "Well, did you get what you wanted? Showing off your body?"

"He didn't give me the information I needed, no," you whispered, unable to look behind you.

A dark chuckle sent shivers up your spine. "You should know by now I'm the only one who can give you what you need. Information and otherwise." He pressed his knee harder into you, making you whimper. "What would your beloved queen say if she knew you were whoring yourself out for information?"

"I'm not, I'm—"

"Oh, but you are." His grip on your wrists tightened. "Coming in here asking for priceless information, knowing my price isn't laughter for you. Spreading your legs so easily for me, letting me bury myself inside you time and again until you're dripping. But you like that, don't you? Being used as a cum dump. Because you wouldn't be on birth control if you didn't. Here's the thing, doll — once you let me touch you, you became mine, and I don't like when my playthings entertain other men."

"I'm on birth control because I cannot get pregnant," you snapped back, trying to wrest your wrists away. "Imagine what people would say if a noblewoman had a child by an undertaker!"

"Dove, they wouldn't say anything, because the second you were pregnant, I wouldn't be letting you out of my sight. I wouldn't want you to run away from me or our family~ But enough of that. I do intend to punish you."

"Look, I won't go to him anymore!" You didn't like his tone, or how you couldn't see what he was about to do. You may fuck the man on a semi-regular occasion, but you didn't actually know him, or what lines he wouldn't cross with you. And you were just now realizing that.

"I've already taken care of him, doll. You won't be going to anyone else ever, I promise you that."

Cool air fanned your hot skin as he ripped your underwear off. He pulled your dress and shift off as well without letting you free, then tied your hands together with a soft fabric. "I was waiting for the right time to use this little toy."

He turned you over, finally letting you see him. Chartreuse eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, clearly angry. He had lost his hat and usual outer robe, leaving his tight-fitting clothes. He held up a set of clamps with individual chains running down to merge into a single chain, which ended at a third clamp. His smirk made you shiver.

"I have the information you want, but since you decided you couldn't rely on me, you can find it yourself. Wearing nothing but these."

"You can't seriously expect—"

His hand gripped your chin firmly. "You humiliated me by not only going to another man, but daring to tell said man I couldn't do what you needed. Therefore, I am going to repay the favor. I am being kind; no one else is here and no one will walk through that door for the rest of today. Keep arguing and I'll make it worse for you."

You swallowed. "Y... Yes, sir."

His smirk returned. "Good girl." He knelt down, and a second later, you felt something cold close around your clit. He pulled the toy up so he could do the same with the other clamps. You shivered as he attached the clamps to your nipples. "To make it more fun..." He hit something and you gasped as the clamp on your clit began vibrating slowly. "Every ten minutes, I will turn this up. Cum before you find the information or I give you permission, and you've failed."

"May I have a starting clue, please?" You breathed, hoping he'd be nice. "Just an area to look in, maybe?"

"Well, you do look beautiful right now... It's a red folder."

That should be easy enough, right? But you had a sinking feeling as his eyes gleamed. "Good luck, doll."

Thirty minutes in and you were still nowhere close to finding the folder. Undertaker watched you with a predatory smile, tapping the remote against his chin. "Want another clue, doll?" He'd ask, but you didn't trust his smirk. You weren't sure what he would want for the clue now.

And yet, you were at your wit's end. You had searched every bookshelf, every nook and cranny, and you had already tried prying more clues out of him without giving anything in return. That buzzing between your legs was driving you crazy, making you wet and sensitive without any relief of an orgasm. You weren't about to give in, though, so you faced him. "Yes, please."

"Please, what?" He taunted.

"Yes, please, sir," you amended. "Please, give me a clue. Anything."

He was toying with you, and you hated it. You hated losing, especially in this twisted little game of his.

So you marched over to him, where he was lounging, and before he could react, you unbuttoned his pants. You carefully pulled his cock out, watching as it immediately stood to attention, tip flushed and red. You straddled his lap and groaned softly as you sank down onto him. "Please," you breathed, rolling your hips, "give me a clue."

His hands gripped your hips and he bit back a moan, thrusting upwards. "Is this your way of seducing one out of me? I thought you weren't a slut."

"Aren't I? For you? You make big speeches about me, but God knows you can't wait to rip my clothes off as soon as I set foot in your shop." You whimpered as he hit a certain spot, toes curling with the effort to not cave and orgasm right there.

"Well, that admission is beautiful enough," he grunted. A few more thrusts and you feel warmth spurt inside of you. You hated how much you loved it. He panted for a second, eyes locked onto yours. After a moment of regaining his breath, he tilted his head. "Almost beautiful enough to unlock the location."

You startled as the vibrator turned up a notch, and your vision almost went black. Fuck, you needed to cum so badly. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. Your legs were trembling from the effort to hold back, your body on fire from the pleasure of the toy. One of his hands gripped your chin again and gently turned it, so your gaze met his desk.

"Oh- Oh!"

At the same time, his other hand had pressed the clamp more firmly onto your clit, and you nearly came right there. With a grunt, biting your lip so hard it would surely bleed, you managed to fight that high off. "Y-Your desk...?"

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He crooned in your ear. "Go on. Try my desk, doll."

You shakily stood, not even caring how your arousal dripped down your thighs, or how his cum leaked out of you. You stumbled to the desk and began frantically pulling the drawers open. You almost cried in frustration when all but two opened, not bothering to look at the other drawers. He surely had it locked up.

Undertaker came up behind you, hands now on your breasts. "Now, which one do you think has the folder? Guess correctly and you win. Guess wrong, and you lose."

The right drawer seemed like it might... but so did the left drawer. You almost couldn't think, hands gripping the edge of the desk until your knuckles turned white. At this rate, you had moments before you lost, and he knew it. So which one would he put the folder into? He wouldn't make this so easy, would it?

Your eyes widened.

"It's..." Your voice broke. "It's not in there," you managed, turning. "Is it? You've had it this whole time, haven't you?"

He merely tilted his head, watching you. "Is that your final answer?"

I can't lose...

"Yes." You stated as firmly as you could, leaning against the desk for support. "I know you have it."

A grin spread over his lips. "Clever~" He reached into his shirt, producing the desired folder. "It's all yours, but first..."

In a flash, he had you on top of the desk, cock buried inside you. The vibrations increased on your clit as he thrust, and in a second, you tumbled into pure pleasure. Loud moans filled the shop as he fucked into you, pushing you through your orgasm. Your vision went white now, head spinning as you could feel nothing but him and yourself, the only two people in the world for this moment.

"UNDERTAKER!"

Darkness greeted your vision when you finally woke. Something soft was all around you, and you groaned. "Nhm...?"

"Careful, doll," a voice crooned by your ear. "That was quite the orgasm you had. Almost thought I lost you there." You felt something warm on your face. "Shh, don't fight. I'm cleaning you up."

His face came into focus after you squinted your eyes, trying to clear the blurriness. Gone was the cruel amusement. His expression was soft, almost... sweet. He continued cleaning you up, careful to avoid your sensitive parts.

"I... passed out?" You rasped.

"After doing such a good job of winning, yes. You're in my bed now. You'll need to rest for a day or so," he explained, pulling back. "Especially when you're going to be in such a fragile condition soon. I've already contacted your estate, and they know you'll be taking a leave of absence."

"Wait, what?" You rubbed at your eyes, noticing you were indeed in his bed. He'd never let you up here before. What the hell was going on? But you were too tired to fight, just watching him. "Fragile condition...?"

"Isn't it wonderful? I'm certain you'll be with child soon. After all, that little betrayal made me realize I should officially claim what's mine, and what I want. Don't worry, you'll be a mother soon." He chuckled.

"So, doll, how do you feel about a nighttime wedding?"

[preciousamethyst]

In For A Surprise

Undertaker x (F) Plus Size Reader

💀Prompt: You and Undertaker have been dating a long time and you can say that everything has be going well but things are getting a little boring. You went online and made a list on your phone of all the things you wanted to try. You were going to talk to him about it when you get home after work but he already knows about it. Now you are going to be in for a surprise.

💀Warnings: 18+ MDNI, female anatomy, bondage, toys, V&A penetration, sensory/temperature play, blindfold, squirting, sir kink, lingerie, orgasm denial, names{darling, dear, love, sweetheart, baby, babe}. Lmk me know if I missed anything.

💀A/N: This one took a while since I have been sick but I finished it when I wasn't feeling too bad. Low key wish this would happen to me but that is just me. Any who I hope enjoy. Bye 🤗 .

💀Word Count: ~3.6k+

You and Undertaker were sitting at home watching a movie together since y’all decided to stay home for date night. Both you have ordered take-out since neither one of you wanted to cook tonight. That wasn’t a big deal since y’all do this often. The movie was close to being over, but you didn’t want to watch another soppy movie. You two try to do different things in your relationship to make it exciting especially during sex. Your sex life wasn’t bad what so ever but there are times where you wanted to spice it up a bit. You looked over and you saw that he was sleeping. You took this as a chance to search up a few things on your phone. Unknown to you that Undertaker was pretending to sleep.

You started to look into different kinks and positions and making a list of them. He looked over your shoulder to see the list you were making. The list wasn’t long, but it was a good start. So far everything is something he always wanted to try with you, but he was afraid to ask you. He leaned back so you will think he was still sleeping, and he started to think of a plan. You stopped making your list and saved it on your phone. You looked over to see he was still “sleeping.” You tapped him on the shoulder. “Do you want to watch another movie?” He leaned up and stretched. “No, I think it’s time for us to go to bed plus we have work in the morning.” “Pssh don’t remind me.”

You got up and cleaned up the takeout and he turned off the TV. Truth be told Undertaker didn’t have to work tomorrow. He lied to you so he can put his plan into action. He took off his shirt and left his pajama pants on and hopped in the bed and waited for you. It didn't take you long to clean since all you had to do was put things in the trash. You left the kitchen and made your way to the bedroom. The both of you have already taken a shower before the movie so there was nothing else to do. You got under the comforter with Undertaker and laid on your side facing away him. He turned over and wrapped you in his arms. “Good night, babe.” He kissed your cheek. “Good night, my love.”

~Next Morning~

You woke up to your alarm going off at eight in the morning. You have to get up that early because it will take you a long time to get to your job. You noticed that Undertaker wasn’t in the bed with you, but you assumed that he has already left to go to work. His job was closer unlike yours, but he likes to leave early. You got up from your bed and stretched to the point your back was cracking. “Damn, I must be getting old.” You laughed to yourself.

You walked to the bathroom, so you could shower and finish your morning routine before heading to work. When you finished everything in the bathroom you got dressed in your uniform that frankly you hate but you just wear it to work so that’s a good thing. You left out the room and you saw a note on the counter. “Good morning love, I hope you have a wonderful day at work and don’t worry about dinner tonight I got that covered. Also, I made your favorite for breakfast. No need to be hungry or stopping to get breakfast. Love Undertaker ♥.” You smiled and looked behind the counter and sure enough he made you your favorite breakfast.

“Undertaker you never cease to amaze me.” You ate your breakfast and washed the dish before you left. It was currently 8:45 and you had to be to work by ten. You are making good timing, but you hope traffic is not backed up, so you don’t be rushing to work.

~At the Mall~

Everything was going according to plan. He received a text from you thanking him for the breakfast and making dinner tonight. You also texted him that you won’t be home at your usual time maybe an hour later. He smiled and texted you back. This was perfect. That gives him enough time to set everything up and make dinner. Right now, he was at the mall picking up somethings. He was heading to an adult store that not to long ago opened up and he ordered a few things while you were sleep.

The store windows were blacked-out so you couldn’t see what was inside. He went in and he could see why. Everything was in full view. Handcuffs, whips, magazines, videos, and many other things were all over the place, but it was organized. This is his first time here, but he wasn’t nervous. He walked to the front counter that was a glass counter with toys on display. A clerk walked out from the back carrying a box and set it on the counter.

“Here you go. Is there anything else you need.” He looked at them confused. “Umm how did you know that this is for me?” “Well for one you set up a time to pick it up and people usually be on time to pick their online orders up and I just assumed this is for you since you are the first one of today.” “Oh, all right that’s perfect. You don’t mind if I opened the box, do you?” “Sure, go ahead and like I said if you need anything else just let me know.” The clerk went into the back room to get stuff to stock the shelves behind the counter. He opened the box and peeked at all the things he ordered.

Everything was there but he felt like there is something missing. He closed the box and set it back on the counter to browse the store. He didn’t see anything until he saw something that caught his eye. It was a wartenburg wheel. It was hidden behind some whips, but he managed to find it. He picked it up and examined it. He dragged it across his skin. It tickled him but he wasn't getting it for himself. “Perfect this is what I was missing.”

He went back to the counter and the clerk was right there. He paid for it and put it in the box with the rest of the stuff. He picked up the box. It wasn’t heavy, but it had some weight to it, and he left the store. The clerk told him to come by again soon before he left. Oh, most definitely he will be coming back. He wasn’t done yet. He went to another store to pick up some other things just for the occasion. This is going to be a surprise you will never forget.

~Hours Later~

He is now home in your shared bedroom setting everything up. He had everything laid out of what he is going to use. This is simply perfect. Just the thought of him using these things on you is already making his cock hard but he can’t do anything about it now. When he was done, he admired his work making sure everything was in place. He smiled to himself. “Something to spice up the bedroom. She will surely love this.” He chuckled to himself.

He looked at the time. He has enough time to get dinner started. He took a shower and got himself cleaned up so he can smell fresh when you get home. He put everything away and out of sight, so you don’t ruin the surprise. He decided to stay shirtless for the rest of the day since he wasn’t going anywhere, and he put his hair in a ponytail. He started prepping the ingredients in order to make your favorite meal. He noticed that you haven’t had in a while, and he feels like it would put you in a better mood.

~One Hour Later~

You were just getting home, and you were exhausted. You wanted to take a shower eat and relax with your boyfriend. As you open the door it was very dark, but you look at the table and there were a few candles lit with only one plate with a cover on it. He did a candle lit dinner for you. You never had one before, but you know they were special. You took your shoes off at the door and when you walk towards the table you felt something on the bottom of your foot. You lift your foot and you saw it was a rose petal. ‘Did he really did this? I wonder what’s the occasion.’ You thought to yourself.

Just as you were taking the rose petal from the bottom of your foot, he was standing next to the table. “Welcome home darling. I hope work wasn’t too hard on you this time.” You looked up at him and you can see the outline of his body. The way his hair was loose on his shoulders and his green eyes that luminated from the candle light made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help but stare at him. “Well love you should go take a shower. Your dinner will be waiting for you.” You blinked a few times and went to the bathroom to shower.

While you were in the shower Undertaker put a box on the bed with a note on and left to put dinner on the table. As you hopped out the shower to dry off and enter the bedroom you saw the box with the note. You opened the note, and it reads: ‘Wear Me’ with a ♥ at the bottom. “Aww he got me new pajamas sweet.” When you opened the box, your eyes went wide.

These were not exactly pajamas, but it was a lace crotchless bodysuit in his favorite color with a matching silk robe. All this time you didn’t think he was into these sort of things but looks like he is showing a new side of him. You had no clue to why he is doing this, but you can’t complain. You put on the lingerie, and you looked at yourself in the mirror. It was different but you liked it. The way it was hugging your body and it was puffing out in some areas. The material was thin but it was nice quality. You also liked that it had your breasts out instead of covered up. You took the robe, wrapped it around you, and walked back to the table where Undertaker was waiting.

He got up from his seat and pulled your chair out. “Such a gentleman.” You giggled to yourself. He kissed your cheek and pushed you to the table. As you can see the plate in front of you had a cover over it. He was standing next to you holding the cover. “I know you haven’t had in a while, so I decided to make it for you.” You couldn’t pinpoint what he was talking about until he lifted the plate cover. You gasped and looked at him. “Awww babe you did this for me?” He mumbled a ‘mhmm’ and set the cover on the table. He was back to his seat.

He looked towards you. “You can start eating you know. I know you haven’t had anything to eat since your lunchbreak.” He was right. Your lunchbreaks at work were early so that means you had to snack for rest of the day until you got off. You began to eat your meal and it was mouthwatering. You knew he could cook but this was heavenly. He looked at you eat and smirked to himself. “Aren’t you going to eat.” He chuckled to himself. “I’m fine love. Don’t worry about me.” He had a look in his eye that you couldn’t shake off, but you let it go. You were half-way finished until you asked him a question. “You know I appreciate all of this I really do but what’s the occasion?”

You looked up from your plate and you see his eyes were a little dilated, but you didn’t pay it no mind. “Oh no reason. I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate you.” You shook your head and continued to eat. Once you finished your meal, you yawned. You had a long day but luckily you had a day off tomorrow. He got up from his seat and was by your side. “Sweetheart why don’t you go ahead a lay down I’ll take care of everything here.”

You shook your head and got up from your seat and headed to the bedroom. You laid in the bed and within minutes you were fast asleep. It didn’t take him long to clean everything from the table and he saw you on the bed. “Perfect.” He said to himself. He closed the door and walked towards your sleeping form. He got the blindfold from his pocket and wrapped it out around your head.

~Timeskip~

You woke up so you could turnover, but something felt off. You tried to move but you couldn’t. You can feel your wrists and ankles wrapped around something and your body was in a ‘X’ formation. You couldn't see either. You started to panic a little until you heard a voice. “Your finally awake I see.” You moved your head toward the direction the voice was coming from. “Babe what are you doing?” He got close your face.

“You don’t remember? Well, let me ask you this. What happened on our movie night? I recall you searching up certain things that I didn’t think you would partake in. You thought I was sleep but I was far from it.” You recollected that night. For sure you thought he was asleep but looks like you were wrong. “So, you saw everything?” You suddenly felt something hot drop on your belly. It made you yelp but it soon stopped. “Yes, my love I saw everything and guess what. You are going to experience every single one.” You heard him laugh deeply as you felt more hot wax hit land on your body.

You couldn't help but moan at the feeling. He poured more wax on your thighs going in an upward motion. Then some around your breasts in a figure eight. You wanted to rub your thighs together to help with the aching feel in your pussy, but you couldn’t. “I can see you are liking this, but this is only part of what I have in store for you.” He set down the candle wax. You were anxious to what he was going to do next but all it did was made you wetter. Your thoughts were cut short when you felt something cold touch your nipple. “Time to turn down the heat. Hehehe.” He whispered in your ear and nibbled on your ear lobe.

You thought in your head it was ice but the shape of it never changed from the heat from your body. You felt him slowly graze the cold object against your nipples. Making them harder in the process. Slowly he grazes the object down your stomach and then rubbing it between your thighs. You moaned out “Baby what is that in your hand?” Your question was soon answered when he rubbed the object against your lower lips. It was a glass dildo. He must have put it in ice before all of this. You felt him teasing your entrance with it and it felt so good. He slowly stuck the tip of it in.

The heat from your pussy and the chill from the dildo was new to you but it felt so good you started to hump it. “Ahhh, I see. You are loving this aren’t you?” He snickered. You felt his mouth on one of your nipples and he was pinching the other one with his nails. He started to thrust the dildo faster making you moan louder. The way your juices coat the glass object made it easier to slip in and out which gave you more pleasure. “Baaabe, I think I’m gonna cuu...” Your sentence was cut short from him kissing you. You felt your orgasm getting closer and closer but then he pulled it out.

“Waaiit whyyy did you do that?” There were tears on the edge of your eyelashes that got caught in the blindfold which stained it. “No need to get hasty my dear~.” You felt his body left you for a second then he was between your legs. “Now be a good girl and don’t move.” You were about to ask what he means but you felt something pointy roll across your thigh. You tried to not squirm too much, but this was a new feeling to you. He smacked your clit which mean you yelp but in a good way.

“Now darling I thought I told you to not move.” He smacked your clit again and then rubbed it in a circular motion. “Now let’s try this again.” He started to roll the wheel against your thigh pressing down on it every few seconds to see you reaction. You were starting to enjoy it but you didn't want to admit it. He took it to your breast and rolled the wheel around until he came to the top of your nipple and pressed down. He took note of your expression and did the same thing to the other. You are starting to squirm in the restraints. You have been teased long enough and you want him. You want his cock so bad.

“My love~ are you that desperate?” You shook your head and whined. “Awww darling just a little while longer and then I’ll give you what you been craving for.” The wheel is now traveling down your stomach and your heart dropped a little. He took the wheel and traced it across your pussy. Starting at your outer lips then moving closer to your clit. You can feel him pull you lips apart and the wheel gently grazing your clit. He repeatedly does this, and your legs were starting to shake out of your control.

You could feel your arousal drip beneath you. He decided to lick it before it had a chance to do so. You were about to cum but once again he took that pleasure away from you. “S-sirrr pp-please let me cum. II-I can’t take it anymore.” Your voice was shaky from both orgasms being denied. You felt him get between your legs and you can feel his breath on your face. “All right darling, I think you had enough.”

You can feel the restraints being taken off your ankles but not your wrists. You heard him open something but you didn’t know what it was. “Now this is something I wanted to try.” You were confused but then you felt something poking your ass and then it was going in. You arched your back since you never had anything up there before. It didn’t take long for him to push it in, but it was a new feeling to you. He was looking at you squirm and trying to get use to the new feeling. This was something he wanted to try on you, but he didn’t think you would like it.

Just seeing your pussy clench around nothing and the little black plug with the green gem in your ass was making he cock harder than before. “If only you can see yourself right now.” He slid off his pants with his cock standing at full attention. He stroked his cock a few times. A bead of precum dripped from the tip and hitting your pussy. “P-please fuck me sir. I need to cum. Please make me cum.”

He took your blindfold off and he could see the tear stains around your eyes. “Aww my precious baby wants to cum.” You shook your head. “Well don’t worry you will soon enough.” You felt his cock tease your lips and then he stuck it in. You didn’t need any prep since you have been teased for a while now. “Oh, my you are so wet and tight. We should have done this a long time ago.” He was thrusting at decent speed, but it was enough for you to see stars. With him fucking your pussy and the plug in your ass you were feeling your orgasm returning to you.

“About to cum already my love~? Of course, you are. With that lewd expression I’m guessing you are going to cum very soon.” He leaned towards your neck and started to marks. Leaving dark spots here and there. He picked up the pace and you can feel something. “Sir I’m gonna cum. Please let me cum this time please.” A few tears flowed from your eyes. He didn’t say anything. He started to pound your sensitive cunt harder. His hands were on your plush and soft thighs. “Go ahead. I’m not stopping you. Not this time anyway.”

You arched your back and wrapped your legs around his waist as much as you could. Your eyes were rolling to the back of your head. He kissed you one final time, and your orgasm broke loose. You came but you also started to squirt. He pulled out his cock and slapped it on your pussy while you were still squirting. You have never squirted before, and it was a lot. You were panting and your eyes were half way opened. You felt his cock going back into your pussy once more. “You thought I was finished with you?” He got closer to your face and used his hand to pull your face towards his. He was looking into your eyes. “Your surprise is not over yet.”

Feel free to like, comment, reblog and share. Please do not copy this story anywhere else.

[ulquiorrapleasecallmetrash]

omg i absolutely love your blog. could you do something for undertaker but with cockwarming, and not necessarily explicit? like they both love just having his cock inside her even when they’re busy doing other things

Undertaker and His s/o Love cockwarming Headcanons + Mini scenario

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Fandom: Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji

Rated: 18+ no kids allowed!

Warnings: Cock warming, teasing,dirty talking, undertaker being a meanie

Admin Harmony🐯: Wooho another Undertaker wanting to do kinky things lol. I love it more Undertaker doing kinky stuff please. I live for it and everyone else does too! I hope you enjoy it!

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★I'm going to be honest. Undertaker loves cockwarming.

★He really enjoys it when it isn't even in a sexual way, like the fact that cockwarming isn't sexual in any way is what makes it so attractive. So he will end up getting more turned on by it.  

★It's weird how he can turn a semi innocent thing and make it sexual but that's our undertaker for ya. 

★What's even more embarrassing is that he will make it "clear" that it isn't sexual in any way possible. He just likes having a warm cock and you are able to provide that warmth. Simple as that.

 ★Yet, when you both are doing just random things while cockwarming he still just can't help but be a little tease. 

★He will tease about how turned on you are and how you should be so distracted even though he is clearly hard inside of you.

★Because that's just Undertaker,nothing but a huge tease.

★But that's okay because if you feel him getting hard inside of you could also tease him. Reminding him that it's just cockwarming and nothing else. 

 ★So now the majority of the cock warming session is just you two verbally teasing each other. 

★ So you're right the cock warming session isn't really sexual or explicit because you two are just too busy roasting each other about how turned on both of you are.

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You had to admit, the feeling of Undertaker's flaccid penis inside of you felt...unnatural.

But you couldn't deny that the feeling inside off him, rather soft or hot felt pretty nice. You sighed with content, actually enjoying being so close with Undertaker and the intimacy you two both shared. 

"You're quite comfortable aren't you dear?" 

You looked back at me smiling at him, "Of course I am. I enjoy being so close to you." You admitted, leaning yourself against him, closing your eyes to feel his warmth against him.  Undertaker only chuckled, leaning forward to give you a gentle kiss on your forehead. You then lean forward, claiming his lips. It was nice being so intimate with him but being overly sexual, it was rare, and nice to be like this, not that you didn't enjoy the overly sexual parts of you guy's relationship, quite the opposite, actually. 

"Try not to get too worked up my dear. We have lots of work to do~." 

There he goes again, 

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, he just loves to tease you no matter what.  

"Trust me, I won't get too worked up, now if you excuse me, I have some more research to do." You leaned forward, moving your hips around to tease him back,, which caused him to let out a gasp. You only chuckled, shuffling through the parchment on the desk, humming happily. "Now Adrian, You're not getting too worked up are you? We have so much to do." You giggled at him, which only made him snicker in response, "Ah, but I could say the same to you, you are rather wet with need." You shook your head vigorously, "No, that's just how I'm always am, that's why you're getting hard right inside of me."  You rebutted because it was true, he was slowly getting hard inside of you. 

"My my, I'm hurt that you would accuse me of such actions." 

You laughed out loud, "You're joking? I can feel every part of you inside of me. You're the one whose getting worked up, not me." 

And so the never ending cycle continues. 

You're not a true couple until you both roast each other while cockwarming am I right?

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[kiatheinsomniac]

──── 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ˊˎ -

☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: I had brainrot sorry but I want this man to rail me in inappropriate places.... I should do a coffin next

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: The Undertaker | Adrian Crevan x Reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.3k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW content, smut, MDNI, sex in a morgue, slight body carving, biting/marking, creampie, can be read as a modern au

You looked so out of place and there was something alluring about it. 

You were laid back against the autopsy table, kicking your feet slightly as you patiently waited for your lover to shrug off his coat and pull on a pair of black latex gloves. You had been curious about his job as an Undertaker and so he thought: what better way than to walk you through it with you as the subject? 

Your heart leapt a little at the sight of him with his hair messily pulled back into a bun, his coat removed to reveal the sleeve garters around his arms, white sleeves pushed up his forearms and contrasting the black waistcoat and tight black trousers he so often wore. His style truly made him irresistible. 

“Now, usually I’d have to begin by washing the body.” He began as he leaned his hands on the table and towered over where you were laid down, “Though, I’m most often tasked with having to remove their clothes by cutting them off as I later dress them in whatever outfit I’m sent, I know how fond you are of this pretty skirt.” He let out a little hum as he tugged on the end of said skirt. “So let me take these off for you.” He needed no help to lift your hips in order to tug it down though you did sit up for him to remove your shirt. He left you in just your white cotton panties and baby blue bra for a moment, admiring your body. The lace of the bralette was so thin, it left absolutely nothing to his imagination as he watched your nipples pebble behind the sheer fabric. “These too, come on.” His voice drawled out and you began to wonder whether he was getting distracted or whether he had planned this all along. 

In all honesty, the Undertaker had fantasised about fucking you on this table for a long time now. He wanted the thrill of it, the memories of how you’d look and sound being fucked over the table that he would spend hours working at every day. Maybe such memories would make the days go faster? Maybe they’d remind him of what he had to look forward to at the end of the day? 

“There you go…” He eased you to lay back down as he folded your clothes up and set them aside. “Usually I’d get out some stronger stuff but…” He brought out a solution of sanitiser that he knew wouldn’t irritate your living skin. “I wouldn’t want to hurt my poppet.” His sentence was punctuated by a kiss to the tip of your nose and a little laugh from him as he stood over you once more. You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at being naked and utterly exposed to him like this. 

“That’s cold!” You gasped out when it first touched your skin and he clicked his tongue before pressing a finger to your lips, tapping twice with a smile that was as seductive as it was mischievous. 

“I’m not a doctor, darling;” You took in a sharp breath through your nose when he resumed cleaning your body, “my patients don’t speak.” You did your best to lay still and quiet as he washed your body, fighting the urge to flinch at the initial coldness of the sanitiser against your heated skin. “Now…” He moves on to turn your arms so that they’re palm-up. Latex-covered fingers graze across your wrists, tracing the rivers of your veins beneath your skin, “This is the part where I’d start to drain out all of your blood from here-” His long nails bit into your wrist, even through the gloves he wore, “-or from here,” He then grazed his fingertips up over your arm and to your chest where your heart thumped heavily, making a little detour along the way to tease one of your stiff nipples, “and I’d replace it with a formaldehyde-based solution.” You gasped at the sight of a scalpel in his hands as his fingers ghosted over your abdomen. “I’d have to make an incision or two here to insert a tube so that I could pump you full of solutions to preserve and harden your organs. I’d then close them up and dress you again before I got onto makeup if necessary.” 

He leaned down to press a kiss against where the sharp scalpel had been hovering over your abdomen and you were surprised to see his lips come away smeared with a little bit of blood. You glanced down to the red lip print on your skin that was so slightly beading with blood still, surprised that he had actually cut you. 

“Of course, I cut my patients much deeper.” He clarified with a laugh at your shocked expression before he swiftly grabbed your legs and rotated your body so that you were laid sideways on the table with your legs hanging off. He then gave you no time to recover as he moved you so that you were now bent over it with your chest pressing to the cold metal surface, eliciting a shrill gasp from you at the sensation. 

“But, as much as I love my job, you’re far more interesting to have on my table. You see, you’re all mine and I get to hear all the sweet little noises you make, see how you squirm and twitch, isn’t that right, poppet?” 

You quickly nodded your head with a muffled mmh-hmm as those gloved hands firmly grabbed the softness of your ass, pulling you apart to get a view of your pussy that was now glistening from being so exposed to him and his touches. He hadn’t expected you to be so shy and embarrassed at being so exposed and vulnerable to him on his autopsy table and yet it seemed that you were just as excited by it as him. 

“Ah, another thing…” He began and you cast a little glance over your shoulder at him, finding those bright green eyes fixed between your legs, “Sometimes they don’t come in perfect shape… I might have to cover up bruising with some makeup or fix over some injuries with wax; you understand what I mean, don’t you? I usually have to inspect each patient thoroughly and it seems that you have an irregularity to all my patients right here so you’ll be good while I inspect it, won’t you?” You folded your arms beneath your head and buried your face in them as he angled your hips to face up a little more, his legs dressed in those heeled and high-climbing boots kicking your own apart before falling to your knees. “Won’t you?” He repeated, wanting to hear your submission. 

“I will…” You replied in a murmur, hips jerking just a little at the sensation of his breath on the back of your thigh. 

“Swelling…” He mused as though it were somehow just for him, like your thoughts on this were irrelevant even though it was only done for the sheer purpose of watching your arousal grow in the face of your own humiliation. His comment was joined by gloved fingers prodding at your pussy lips. “Flushed skin too…” He murmured at the rosy tint of your aching flesh. You let out a little whimper when his fingers glided through your slit, gathering wetness and stopping just short of your clit. “Wet too…” You keened at the faint pressure of his fingertips at your entrance. “I should see if I can determine the cause of that.” 

“Adrian!” You let out a cry of his name as his finger sank into you unexpectedly. It was rare that he ever fingered you, opting to usually make you touch yourself in front of his watchful eyes or for him to sloppily make out with your cunt before pushing his dick into you. His long nails wouldn’t allow you to comfortably be fingered by him, you’d only end up with scratched-up insides, but the gloves he was currently wearing protected you from such a risk and the feeling was so surprising, you felt your legs buckle for a moment. 

“Very warm too…” He added to his mental notes as he shallowly pumped his slender finger in and out, rotating it slightly to feel along your walls. You were moving just slightly and he could tell that you were doing your best to not squirm. He wanted to test your limits and so another finger was added to your dripping pussy, making the material of his gloves shine with your arousal. “Tight as well, that’s good.” You could hear the edge of a moan in his voice and knew that he was already imagining how you would feel wrapped around his cock. A squeaked moan left your lips when those fingers brushed over your sweet spot and you pushed your hips back slightly to meet his touch as he hummed in observation. 

You took a moment to ask yourself how you had ended up in this position. Genuine curiosity regarding his job had sparked these flames, yes, but who knew you could get so wet from humiliatingly having your pussy inspected by him like this as though you were just some subject or toy? A whine built in the back of your throat at the constant cycle of being turned on by your own humiliation.“Yes, I see what needs to be done…” You parted your lips to protest, only to let out a cry and try to grapple onto the table when he sank his cock into you in one merciless thrust. He wasted no time in firmly grabbing the curve of your waist to hold you still and stop your hips from hitting into the metal table when he began to deliver a punishing pace to your dripping hole that was already so close to coming around him from your prior stimulation. 

You could feel the way that he leaned over you, the way the band had fallen from his silver hair to allow it to spill over his shoulders and tickle at your back. You were reminded of just how exposed you were when his clothed chest pressed to your back just before his teeth sank into your shoulder, making you whimper at the pain. He messily licked over the small wound, saliva gathering in the indents of his teeth and cooling in the air, sending little shivers through you. It was the first of many marks to be left across your back, shoulders and neck, even going as far up as your jaw. One bite had been particularly hard and you jolted upwards against him, reaching your hands back in a split second to try and push him off of you. It was a futile attempt done without thought, really, as he quickly grabbed your wrists and pinned them to your lower back in one hand. You were given very little room to squirm as your body tensed with a sudden orgasm, walls tightly squeezing around the fat cock mercilessly gliding in and out of your dripping hole.

“Stay down…” He ordered in a low voice by your ear, keeping his lips there to allow you to hear every moan and word of praise he had for you. “Now…” He began as you began to tremble with the overstimulation, the sensation of your walls milking him causing his hips to falter in their pace, becoming sloppier and sloppier. “I couldn’t exactly fill you up with formaldehyde or glutaraldehyde but… I can fill you with something else instead.” A moan, edged with a whimper, left his lips at the sight of your overused pussy creaming around his aching cock, forming a ring at the base. You were so fucking pretty. His orgasm was only spurred on by your eager nodding and broken, whining little begs for his cum. Who was he to deny you after you’d been so sweet to take interest in his job and then had obediently sat through being the subject of his little demonstration? 

You let out a little pained noise at how unintentionally tightly he squeezed your wrists when he finally came inside of you, continuing to grind the head of his cock against your beaten cervix as he came deeply, fucking it all into you. 

“Adrian.” You squeaked out when you concluded that he didn’t realise he was hurting you. Bright green eyes fell to you before he let you go, lacing his fingers through those on one of your hands instead to give you an apologetic squeeze. 

“Sorry, poppet.” He murmured as he leaned down to press soft kisses across the reddening marks on your back and shoulders. “I got a bit lost in the moment.” 

“That’s ok…” You mumbled back, feeling sleepy. You felt him carefully ease himself out of you, leaving you slumped over the table for a mere moment before his coat was being draped over your shoulders and you were being eased upright. 

“Hold these.” A quiet command as he put your folded-up clothes into your hands, his gloves now removed. You were then swept up bridal-style and felt his lips press to your forehead as he carried you out of the morgue and into the entrance of his funeral parlour that had closed hours ago. 

You only opened your eyes to look up at his scarred face once he was laying you down in your shared bed upstairs. You reached up for him with grabby hands and watched as your reaction made him smile and laugh a little before he began stripping out of his clothes for you to see, immediately getting into bed with you and covering both of your bare bodies with a warm blanket. 

“You know… I had been expecting you to just talk me through the process or maybe invite me into the morgue the next time you work.” You murmured against his scarred chest as you rested your head there. 

“Hm, yes, but I thought that my method would be much more entertaining for the both of us, my love.” He punctuated his words by squeezing you a little with the arm that was curled around your waist. 

“I think you were right…” You hummed as you let yourself doze off with the sound of his heartbeat to lull you. 

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