#alpha undertaker

[apocalypticromantic666]

Plaything: Epilogue- Part 2

“Is this how you felt when I was born?” Vincent marvels at little Ciel as he cradles the child, now three months old.

It should be a simple question. For any other father, I suppose it probably would be. 

But not for me.

“Yes… and no.” I say quietly. 

“What do you mean?”

“It was an unparalleled joy. But it also… hurt.”

“It… hurt?” Vincent’s brows pinch. Of course, he wouldn’t understand. And I hope he will never have to.

“Yes. It hurt because I couldn’t be there for you as I wanted to be. I could only visit your cradle in the dead of the night. We… she and I were at odds, at the time.” I admit.

Vincent looks like he regrets asking. For a moment, he is quiet. But then his eyes spark with recollection. 

“When I was little, I used to awaken to a shadow in the corner of my room. I wasn’t afraid, though, and called you the grey man. She-” He pauses, licks his lips. Debates whether or not to mention his mother by name. “She thought I was dreaming when I told her a spectre would come play with me at night.”

“I…  I wanted to hold you,” My voice cracks against my will. 

Perhaps if I could have done that, it would have cemented my bond with him, and I wouldn’t have taken our relationship and twisted it into this… thing which grew and mutated like a virus. 

“To tell you that you were my son and how much I loved you, but I couldn’t. I had to settle for letting you play with these.” I clutch my prayer beads. “Do you remember that?”

Vincent nods slowly.

The dam around my heart breaks and I suck in a harsh breath. At long last, it all spills forth.

“But more than anything, it hurt because I knew that all the love in the world could not stop my fragile son from aging, and that one day, I would have to watch you die.” My throat clenches painfully, and a single tear spills from my eye. “It was then that I knew I must do everything in my power to prevent that. I won’t lose you as I’ve lost everyone else, Vincent.”

“I…” Vincent draws a sharp breath, and holds Ciel closer. “I understand.”

“No. Pray that you never do. For if you did, you’d have scars like mine, love.” I say. “You’d have scars like mine. I suppose it is time I tell you how I got them.”

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You can read chapter 1-21 here. Just be mindful of the tags on this dead dove story. https://archiveofourown.org/works/39778392/chapters/99590991

[apocalypticromantic666]

Plaything: Epilogue- Part One

We play chess five days a week.

The sun hangs high in the grey  November sky, casting sun-dial shadows from the pieces aligned on the board.

Vincent shivers. We could play indoors rather than in the rose garden, but his ability to strategize regardless of rain or sun must also be tested. His mind is his greatest weapon, and is in need of a good sharpening.

“A pawn on your board is only a means to an end. You must remember that, love. Nothing, no one  is exempt from collateral damage. Not even me- especially when it comes to protecting your life.”

Vincent frowns. Nevertheless, he listens and watches as I reach for and close my claws around his ivory queen, taking her. I know what he is thinking as I pluck her from the board- as easily as I had plucked her from his life.

Claudia.

He had been hoping to distract me from her by leaving his bishop open.

“You mustn't be afraid to make difficult sacrifices for the sake of the greater good. In fact, you will find your most powerful assets should be sacrificed when the stakes are at their highest. These decisions often must be made split-second. Hesitate, or contemplate them for too long, and you’re finished.”

Vincent nods, absorbing the lesson as he plots his next move.

“It’s called a Queen’s Gambit,” I tell him.

Vincent's brow tightens.

He then sacrifices every pawn afterwards in a too-little-too-late attempt to protect his vulnerable king.

“Good. Now you are thinking with your head, rather than your heart.” Still, I proceed to take his pieces, one by one. “Alas, you were too late.”

A harsh lesson, but one that shows should he ever fail to sacrifice a proverbial limb, he will not lose one, but all.

“What did you learn today?” I ask after his king falls.

“Don’t get attached to my pieces,” Vincent says, and I smile when he proceeds to set up the board again, determined not to admit defeat. “...Or people.”

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You can read the rest of this chapter here. Just be mindful of the tags on this dead dove story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39778392/chapters/126427819

[apocalypticromantic666]

Three's A Crowd

"Diedrich," My name is a whimper of desperation on those glistening lips, then he glances back at me, eyes glassy and hair is plastered to his forehead. "Alpha…"

A heat swirls through my blood, and I let out a shuddering breath. "You... you are..."

At nearly seventeen, Vincent is late to present.

He had always said he was supposed to be an Alpha, like his father.

"...an Omega."

"Help, it- it hurts… I need..."

Vincent's rear raises up, presenting himself to be bred, and his trousers are utterly soaked through the back with slick.

Slick that is meant for me. He sought me out. Built a nest in my room, with my possessions.

A wave of dizziness sweeps over me as blood rushes from my head to my groin, and it is as though my body is possessed.

I do not remember kneeling before the bed. Nor grabbing his hips and ripping his trousers down. I only remember spreading him to swipe my tongue over the source of his heavenly scent, and how my head implodes with the taste of Omegan heat.

"Like nectar," I murmur mindlessly, and delve my tongue in. He whines as I lap at him, bidding me to take more as his flesh bruises like ripe fruit under my fingers while I hold him open.

Licking the froth of lilies and honey from my lips, I dip a finger into his little seam, and a gush of slick seeps out with a lewd squelch.

"Oh, God," He pants, pushing his hips back to fuck himself on my digits. "Alpha, yes!"

Omega wants. Needs. Cries for. Take care of him. My hindbrain commands.

I slip a second finger inside, sliding in as far as I can before curling it up into his tight heat.

Vincent tenses, mouth falling open with a gasping moan and he clenches around me. Flushing prettily, he fists the sheets, lashes spiky with tears.

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You can read the rest of this chapter here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45774739/chapters/115192666

[apocalypticromantic666]

"How long until… until we…?"

"Separate?"

He nods.

"Fifteen minutes. Thirty at most.”  

And then I'll have you again. Harder, I think.

Ciel hums contentedly, then loops his arms around my neck. "Mhm. 'm hungry. Thirsty, too."

"I'm sure your butler will bring whatever you'd like, once we-"

"Sebastian." The boy calls, while I'm still knot-deep in him and he’s overflowing with come.

Just as daring and shameless as his father.

The demon materializes, then carefully opens the door. He takes but three steps into the room.

"My Lord?"

"I want something sweet.” Ciel says, but does not face him. His head is tucked under my chin. “And earl gray."

But I can see how Sebastian's eyes are crawling over us. They smolder with hot animosity at where we are connected. How his arms are wrapped sweetly around me as he sits on my prick, taking all that I give him.

The Earl of Phantomhive, reduced to a needy slut for his informant.

Heh.

I glare at Sebastian, fearlessly showing him my eyes. I favor him with a sly grin.

"Mhm." I hum, then possessively stroke my hand up the boy's back. Over the raised scar of his brand. Drunk on ecstasy, Ciel does not react.

Mine.

Oh, but the demon does. His lip twitches. A break in his facade.

"Did you hear me?" Ciel's voice is edged with teeth as he addresses his butler once more, and turns his face to the side, offering only a lazy peripheral glance. The lack of acknowledgement has him annoyed.

"Yes, my Lord." Sebastian’s voice is flat.

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You can read the rest of this chapter here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49235203/chapters/125128135#workskin

[apocalypticromantic666]

The Middle East

12 AD

I overlook the windswept hellscape, carved with dunes and jagged purple mountains, where dust and death reign supreme.

And yet, somehow, in a remarkable feat of resilience, a little village has sprung from within the oasis here.

There is a gentle tug on my robes.

"Angel?"

The tongue in which the child at my feet speaks is primitive, archaic. She is so very small, underfed, undersized. The callouses on her fingers snag on the cloth. Such youthful hands should be velvety soft, but she works the fields with her mother, from dawn till dusk.

"Yes, little one?"

"Does Daddy still hurt, now that you have taken him?"

Her father’s voice was hoarse from how he screamed until his throat bled. Cancer was eating him alive, and tumors hung from his body in doughy masses. I did what I could for him, which was unfortunately very little. Brewed a poppy seed tea to ease his pain so he could at least murmur goodbye to his wife and child before I freed him from his suffering.

"No, love. He does not hurt anymore." I tell her. “Come, night is falling. You’ll catch a chill out here.”

I lead her by the hand back into the hut, and her face falls as she sees her father’s body again.

Little jewels of tears still shimmer upon her lashes.

Taking the linen sheet from the cot, I drape it over his face so she doesn’t have to see.

“I know it hurts, little one. I’ll tell you a secret, though. When I collect a person, I find that they always wonder if their loved ones knew how dear they were to them. Your Daddy was no different. He may be gone, but his love for you is not. That is something you will keep with you. Always.”

She sniffles, hiding her face in my robes. I pet the top of her head.

“Did your mother say where she would like to have him laid to rest?”

“U-under the cypress tree.” She murmurs, wiping her eyes. “That was his favorite place.”

"I am sorry that we have so little to give," Her mother returns at that moment, and peels back the rawhide curtain to join us in the hut. "But please, take these prayer beads."

The little child’s eyes alight at the jewelry and she reaches for them, taking them from her mother’s hands before I can kindly decline the offering.

Remarkable. Even in their sorrow, they are so selfless.

Smiling, I kneel so she may drape them round my neck.

I do not require payment. Nor has anyone ever given me anything in return.

This village has called me many names. Bringer of eternal sleep. Life’s shadow. Breath-stealer.

But today, this little family deemed me an angel of Death.

I rather like that one. Because what I bestowed upon them was mercy. The father was suffering, pleading for me to come months before his appointed time. I can honestly say it was the first time anyone was happy to see me.

The beads are a shade of night, smooth like glass as I roll them between my fingers. Something expensive that she must have traded a milk goat for.

"Thank you, little love." I say to the child. “What is your name?”

“Zaahira.”

“For this gift, Zaahira, I will grant you much. I shall dig the grave for you, and at dawn, you shall find fifty pieces of silver on your dinner table. Use them sparingly, and you will eat well for many months.”

A rich man died yesterday, and he won’t miss the money that will change the lives of these two.

The mother drops to her knees before me next to her daughter, grateful tears falling upon my boots. Between sobs, she praises me as though I am God himself.

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You can read the rest of this chapter here. Please be mindful of the tags on this dead dove story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39778392/chapters/118220347

[apocalypticromantic666]

Six Sentence Sunday: Undertaker x Ciel a/b/o

"Follow me, please." The footman says.

He leads me upstairs and towards the heart of that toe-curling scent.

“Thank you for coming.” Sebastian says. “I apologize for this impromptu invitation.”

“Really, it’s no trouble.” I wave it off, and set my bag down. “Tell me, what are his symptoms?”

Omegas are so rare nowadays that I’ve seen a but bare handful within the last two hundred years. A virus in the 17th century wiped out most, save for a few resistant bloodlines. I would not be entirely surprised if the demon has yet to be contracted to one, much less witness a first heat. And unlike humans, demons do not possess secondary sex characteristics. Nor can they mimic them beyond physical traits- leaving them blind to pheromones.

The demon hasn’t the faintest idea that he has invited an Alpha into the Omega’s nest.

“A fever, I believe. He is also behaving strangely- this morning he would not get out of bed and he refuses to allow me to change his clothes or bathe him. In fact, he does not seem to want me near him at all.”

Of course he doesn’t. The boy won’t let the demon touch him because he doesn’t smell right.

“Hm. Let’s have a closer look at our patient, then.”

Sebastian nods, but his shoulders tense.

Like a dog with a bone, he wants to bare his teeth at anyone who comes near his food.

“Hello, m’ Lord.” I sit on the side of the bed, making a show of conducting a thorough evaluation. “I was told you weren’t feeling well?”

Ciel stirs sleepily from his nest of tangled sheets.

Those doe eyes then alight, head tipping back as he scents me.

The boy scrambles towards me. Before I can react, he is straddling my lap, panting lewdly against my neck. “You… smell good.”

“Let me just have a look at you.” I try to remain professional as I rest the back of my hand against Ciel’s forehead. He is indeed burning up. His nightshirt is damp and translucent with sweat.

“Oh, my…” I murmur. “He certainly is feverish, isn’t he?”

Gods, he smells positively obscene.

“Yes. I feared he might be suffering from asthma complications, but as you can see-”

The demon's words die in his throat as Ciel takes my hand and slides my thumb between those plush lips, into the molten wet of his mouth. He suckles like a lamb, grinding against my thigh, and-

I swallow, mouth suddenly dry.

Gone is the boy of elegant poise and decorum. Ciel is in the full swing of heat- and he is soaked with slick.

“Yes,” I breathe, flicking my gaze to the butler. Ciel fusses as I slowly draw my thumb from his mouth. “Yes, I see.”

“Is there any cure for this particular… condition?” Sebastian asks cooly, as though his hackles aren’t standing on end. I can smell blood- he’s quite literally biting his tongue.

“It is far too late for preventative measures, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s nothing serious, though.” I assure him. “The boy is an Omega, and in heat- the only way out is through it. You can lessen his suffering by easing his symptoms, though. If he will allow it.”

“An Omega? Are you certain?” He asks. “I thought they were nearly extinct.”

“They are.” I say. “You best keep a close eye on him. Every unmedicated Alpha within a five mile radius is going to be breaking your door down to get to him.”

“Alpha,” Ciel whimpers, knotting his little hands into my robe, vying for my attention. His eyes are heavy, glassy with lust.

“Here,” I remove my outer robe and wrap it around his shoulders. It swallows the boy entirely and he settles down a bit, rubbing his cheeks over the cloth. “Alpha pheromones will help calm him.”

“Mmh.” Ciel purrs.

Tempting little thing. I need to leave, and now. Before I lose the white-knuckled grip on my self-restraint.

Ciel whines as I gently lift him off of me.

“What would easing his symptoms entail?”

“Heat aids, such nesting materials and a knotted phallus. Or you can do the job yourself, if he’ll have you, heehee. ‘Tis not uncommon for nobility to employ someone for help through a heat or rut.”

I am curious if the demon will recoil from such a scandalous suggestion.

Sebastian raises a brow. “That would be… unbecoming of my station.”

Pffft. As if he possesses such morals. Bloody parasite honestly thinks he has me fooled. But I see the shadow of the beast behind his mask.

I pick up my hat, and rise from the bed.

“Then do what you can for him. He should recover in roughly a week-” There’s a tug on my cassock. I pause.

“Alpha,” Ciel whimpers. “Stay.”

The muscles in my legs lock against my will.

Omega pleads for. Needs.

Despite maintaining outward composure, Sebastian’s eyes smolder red with possession.

“My Lord, I don’t believe that would be appropriate in your cond-”

“Sebastian.” Ciel then glares at his butler. “Outside. Now.”

[apocalypticromantic666]

Plaything: Chapter 16

The legless corpse drags itself towards me. Milky, dead eyes fixate upon mine. Its yellowed fingernails rip from their beds as it crawls forward on its belly, skin sloughing off of its body. I try to scramble backwards, only to become entangled in silvery threads of hair.

Fear seeps into my bones. Icy, heavy, paralyzing. My shriek is concave, a strangled sound in my throat. The hair then arranges itself into a sticky spider’s web, sealing my palms to the floor.

Boot steps.

Undertaker.

The heel of his boot plants into the corpse’s back, stopping it in its tracks. Then the flesh of his face tightens, rips as his head suddenly splits apart down the middle, revealing the bear-trap jaws of the ant-mimicking spider.

Undertaker then lunges for me, and I scream.

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You can read chapter 1-16 here. Just be mindful of the tags on this dead dove story. https://archiveofourown.org/works/39778392/chapters/117381832

[apocalypticromantic666]

Work In Progress Wednesday: Plaything

I grab him by the throat, hauling him up into my lap and crash our mouths together.

“I know what you need, love. And I will give it to you. But only if you never leav- never hurt me like that again.”

"Yes," He whines, mindlessly grinding over the ridge of my cock. "I'll stay, I'm yours."

Yours.

And just like that, he licks the hand he bit and accepts the collar I slip around his neck. But he still reeks of a stranger’s touch, an offending scent I must smother with my own. So I reach between us and work myself free.

A wail tears from Vincent as he is skewered, his little hole flinching, sucking me into the molten wet velvet.

"Da- aaad- dy…" he moans brokenly, then impatiently sinks down to the hilt, eager to get himself full.

Once I’m snugly nestled within, he lets out a long, shuddering sigh as though all is now right in his world.

"I missed you, love." I murmur into his hair, holding him close. “I missed you so terribly.”

His little fingers dig into my back, and he melts into my chest, breathing me in.

" I… " His ribcage expands against mine. “Uhn.”

He missed me too. I know he did. Because he loves me.

Loves me as much as he despises me. He leans into my touch because I have given him nowhere else to turn. It makes the words bitter on his tongue, so he lets them die before they leave his lips.

But he will utter them before the night is over.

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You can read chapter 1-19 here. Just be mindful of the tags on this dead dove story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39778392/chapters/99590991