#kuroshitsuji x y/n

[fanfictionsworld]

Can we plese please get a reader who's tired of Sebastian bullshit, like she's just there always facepalmed, not really attracted to him but treats him like every other boys (bitch lol). Like when he tries to charm her she just walks away with no expression, she's not even a tsundere or anything, just completely tired from the weirdness.

Okey i am so sorry for taking so long to write anything but here it is hope you will be satisfied.

Fem reader/Sebastian trying to impress but falling haha/reader is a bitch but a cool one which i love/Sebastians ego ruined hahah/

You are very difficult to him,which he hates.

You can not be impressed with anything he does and that eats him alive.

Why is this human denying me.

Like how i am beautiful,smart,i cook,i am everything any human could possible imagine,if not better.

He is alwasy thinking how he can step up his game with you.

No matter how hard he trys you alwasy find some way to not care or notice.

You avoid him everywhere.

If you possible see him in town with Ciel,you will say hi to Ciel and not spear him a glance..

Avoid all his questions of how are you,do you need any help with anything or are you free this afternoon,etc.

You just keep walking an completely ignore him while you shop

Which in truth is very irritating for him.

If he tells you any filrtatious compliment you just ignore him and keep walking.

And when you had enough of him you just top and say, ,,You need to stop folowing me around like a lost puppy you look desprate maybe you should do something better with your free time rather then stalking like a creep that you are.

To him that was like a dagger trough his hart.

He told you that which you responded with ,,Yes like you have one damon scum".Which he found incredibly attractive and he was deeply offended by that.

Of cours you did not care,you just walked past him wishing him a good day saying that he should you use him manipulative skill on someone else rather than you because you are not an imbecile to fall for it.

Sebastian watches as you walk past him,stunned and impressed.

He knows you will not fall for him,but is he going to pass on a challenge on seducing you of course not he loves playing cat and mouse with you.

#sebastian michaelis smut #black butler fanfiction #sebastian michaelis x reader #yandere sebastian michaelis #black butler x y/n #black butler smut #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji sebastian #black butler x you #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x y/n #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x you #sebastian michaelis #black butler fic #black butler sebastian #black butler imagines

[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)

#kodis requests #undertaker #undertaker x reader #undertaker x you #undertaker x y/n #kuroshitsuji undertaker #undertaker black butler #black butler undertaker #black butler #black butler fanfiction #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji smut #kuroshitsuji fanfic #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x you #kuroshitsuji x y/n

[mysadcorner]

Sebastian Michaelis x Reader x Claude Faustus Headcanons

-Credit to the gifs owner - Please be specific about characters wanted in requests -

Masterlist Navigation

• Both demons obsessed over you - potential mate situation - Both Sebastian and Claude would have realised their attachment towards you very early on, since they’re both very quick and are dragged towards you by something their demon qualities only allow. It would be hard to accept that the other demon is also potentially drawn towards you (especially if it’s a “mate” kind of situation) but dragging you away from the other would be virtually impossible.

• If you’re a normal human then the situation would be even worse for you than if you had been a demon surrounded by Sebastian and Claude. You get put in harms way quite often at the beginning of their attachment towards you due to how much they fight, but after realising that they don’t want you hurt they’ll keep their disagreements private or send sarcastic comments and glares to each other when you’re around.

• If the two of them do decide to share their time with you, this would end with a lot of difficulty. An official timetable would have to be made between them so that no time is unfairly stolen (which would result in practically a war) and they’d hate the thought of you spending time with the other demon when you’re apart from them.

• Both Sebastian and Claude do not get along with each other, and unfortunately their division over you only fuels this. They probably wouldn’t be able to stand each other, and hold thoughts of stealing you away from the other demon in a way that was willingly so that the other has no basis to argue.

• It’s always going to be a competition as to who can treat you better, and this probably will never end even if they do come to a mutual form of mild respect. They both hate the thought of the other giving you better treatment, so if anything this results in you being absolutely pampered (more than their respective lords) if you ignore their bickering.

• Alois is more likely to get involved, rather than Ciel, as they would be more than happy for Claude and Sebastian to get along. Not only does that seem to make Claude more manageable, but it also means that there is more company within the manor and they’re able to interact with someone completely new on a regular basis. Almost like a free friend.

• Once the two of them are forced to be around one another for your sake, they’ll gradually become more accustomed to each other. They wouldn’t do this willingly though, it would most likely be Alois’ intervention which keeps the tree of you in close proximity for a long time until they come to a mutual agreement about their behaviour.

• After this it would be much easier for Sebastian and Claude to share their time with you, since they had gotten used to being around each other and interacting with you simultaneously without any problems which gradually got rid of how much they despised each other. Ciel wouldn’t want to constantly be around Alois though, so Sebastian wouldn’t often come to their manor leaving you to be shared amongst both households until they’re reading for public outings with you.

#black butler #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #black butler headcanons #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x you #kuroshitsuji x y/n #kuroshitsuji headcanons #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis x you #sebastian michaelis x y/n #sebastian michaelis headcanons #claude faustus #claude faustus x reader #claude faustus x you #claude faustus x y/n #claude faustus headcanons

[alastor-simp]

Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis Reacting to a reader who sings like Japanese singer “Ado”

Deciding to try doing another fandom, so I’m gonna do black butler. Only doing Sebby and Ciel since I’m more in tune on how to write them compared to the other characters. Gonna continue the Ado series with them too. I know that this was the Victorian Era so they didn't have stuff like Youtube, so I'm gonna try to change it a bit, and not include that. Enjoy everyone :)

Ciel Phantomhive♟️

♟️Ciel had many duties to attend to as he was the head of Phantomhive manor along with being the Queen’s Watchdog. Apart from filling out paperwork for his company, he had many hobbies that Sebastian help teach him like hunting or playing the violin.

♟️He had met you by Lizzy, as she had found you during one of her strolls in London. You were a frail little thing, but you had a certain amount of skills, so Ciel decided to hire you as a maid for the manor. Hopefully your skills you be much better then the other three. You were a fast learner, and quickly adapted to life at the manor. Both him and Sebastian were impressed with how well you handle your tasks.

♟️Ciel was on his way back to his office when he heard the sound of someone singing. Curious, he headed to wear the sound was coming from and made his way over to one of the rooms which had the door slightly open. Ciel peeked in and saw you in the middle of the room, leaning against the window. You had just finished up dusting the area and decided to take a small break, and while in your break, you started singing as it was something you loved to do.

♟️Once you finished, you heard the sound of clapping and turned to see Lord Phantomhive, leaning against the door with a small smile on his face. “Ahh, Young Master, I was just um-”, you were flustered and tried to explain yourself, but Ciel just put his hand up, which made you stop talking

♟️ “I am not upset with you, y/n. I’m very surprised actually. You never told me you could sing.” Ciel said as he walked closer towards you, standing next to the window. You went on to explain to him that you always loved singing, but you had a slight problem with revealing yourself to everyone as you preferred keeping your identity hidden.

♟️Ciel listened to you and he smiled softly, walking closer to you and grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. He said that you were very talented and should pursue what you loved doing instead of working as a maid. You would still live in the manor, but he would do everything he can to support you in anyway. He knew that hiding your identity would be a challenge, but he assume that maybe a mask would be beneficial to hide your identity.

♟️After that, Ciel would host events at the manor where he would have you perform in front of all of the guests. Everyone was blown away by you that all of the nobles were gossiping about who you were. Pretty soon, you were getting requests to perform at theaters and balls. Everyone was referring to you as the mysterious singer since no one could see your face when you performed, but no one really question it.

♟️Ciel was happy for you that you were achieving your dreams and he was glad to assist in any way with events. He also would like to know what was the new song you were working on, as he was feeling giddy, but he tried to tried to hide it to avoid teasing from Sebastian.

♟️His favorite song that you sang was a cover you did called " Crime & Punishment". He wasn't familiar with that genre of music, but he did enjoy it, and loved how high you went with certain notes in the song.

Sebastian Michaelis😈

😈Sebastian had many duties to fulfill for his young master. There was many tasks he had to play, playing his role as a butler for the manor while also serving as the demon contractor/protector for the young masters soul. Tasks like this for a human would be difficult, but for Sebastian it was nothing.

😈Since Sebastian as been around for a long time, he possessed many talents and skills, ranging from speaking Latin, horseback riding, and playing certain instruments. He was tasked with teaching the young master these things as he was the Lord of Phantomhive manor, though his skills for the violin needed a lot of work.

😈Sebastian had met you during one of his strolls in London. He was on his way back from receiving supplies, when he passed an alley and saw you being held against the wall by three men, with knives. Ahh humans, always so greedy that they would resort to stealing from a young maiden. It all happen so quick, one second you were being threatened by these guys for money then all of a sudden, all three of the men ended being knocked out, and a tall handsome man wearing a suit was in front of you. You thanked him for helping you, and went out of your way to say you were looking for a place to work, to which led you to being introduce to Ciel Phantomhive and becoming a maid for the manor.

😈Sebastian noticed that you were nothing like the other three workers, as you didn't possess any secret skills, but he did appreciate how quick you were to learn and perform your tasks at the manor. There was something about you that drew you to him, he wasn't sure what it was, but he figured there was more too you then just being a regular human.

😈Upon leaving the young masters study after serving him his afternoon tea, Sebastian started to make his way back to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal, and to make sure Bard wasn't using the flamethrower again. He stopped once he heard the sounds of someone singing nearby. Curious, he ventured closer to where the singing was coming from, and noticed that one of the doors was opened slightly. Peeking his head through the door, Sebastian saw you in the middle of the room, dusting one of the shelves, while singing a random melody.

😈"Oya, this human is very interesting", Sebastian thought as he entered the room slowly as not to disturb your singing. Upon turning around after you finished dusting, you dropped the feather duster in shock and covered your mouth as you realized Sebastian was in the room and heard you singing: "S-sebastian! U-um I was um-." Stumbling over your words, you were unable to explain anything to him, and quickly ducked your head down in embarrassment. Chuckling, Sebastian walked closer towards you, lifting your head by placing his fingers on your chin: "Your singing is quite beautiful, Y/N. How come you never told me or the young master you could sing?"

😈Looking away from his gorgeous eyes, you explained to him that you always loved singing, but you preferred to sing in private, or sing where no one could tell it was you. You apologized again if you had distracted him from his duties, but Sebastian just shook his head and smiled saying there was no need to apologize for something like this, but he still wondered why you decided to work as a maid and not a singer.

😈After that, Sebastian explained what had happened with the young master about your hidden talents and insisted in a plan that could benefit both his company and your dream. Ciel was surprised that Sebastian had taken an interest in you, but he didn't think to hard on it and listened to what plan Sebastian had in mind.

😈The both of them discussed the plan with you to be a private singer for the Funtom company. Whenever they would travel to an event for one of the other lords, they would have you there to sing and entertain the guests with your beautiful singing, in disguise of course as you were insistent that you wanted your appearance hidden from everyone. Word spread quickly over the streets of London about the mysterious singer of the Funtom company, including reaching the Queen herself as she was amazed by this singer and sent a letter to Lord Phantomhive herself, requesting the mysterious singer to attend the next ball/event she would plan.

😈Sebastian was quite pleased with how well things were going. Not only was the young masters company becoming extremely popular now, but also you were able to do what you loved which was sing. Of course, Sebastian had to make sure your needs were met and made sure you were not overworking yourself too much as what kind of butler would he be if he didn't provide the best care for you.

😈His favorite song of yours is "Domestic De Violence" . He finds the melody to be very beautiful and finds the lyrics to be very manipulating, but in a good way for him.

#black butler #black butler x reader #ado singer #ado #ado japanese singer #japanese song #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #ciel phantomhive #kuroshitsuji ciel #black butler ciel #ciel phantomhive x reader #fanfiction #black butler fanfiction #x reader #fanfic #kuroshitsuji fanfiction #kuroshitsuji x y/n #yana toboso #singer reader #one hell of a butler

[irides-solstice]

‿̩͙‿✧ ༺ ♥ ༻ ✧‿̩͙‿

ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ: ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴅᴅ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴘɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ.

Silence... A rare moment in the Trancy Manor. For once, there were no late-night parties to hosted or serve drinks at, no needy master begging for Claude's attention, but most importantly...

there was you

Quiet, calm, and relaxed you. In Claude's arms no less. Crickets chirping is the only sound in the room as you snooze away. Your peaceful expression emphasised by the moonlight escaping through his bedroom curtains. A lavish room that was barely used. Adorned in creams and golden. The highest quality furniture, yet never used asides from being decoration. Until you came along that is. His eyes glancing all over your figure as you slept next to him peacefully. Placing his folded glasses on the bedside table, peering down at you, he parts his lips in awe. He takes a shaky breath as he admires.

MINE. The only thought that comes to his mind.

Glee shining in his golden eyes as a smirk crawls up on his face. The covers drawn up to your shoulders slightly moving to reveal various bite marks and bruises that unfortunately will be covered by your uniform tomorrow. With the other servants being none the wiser of what happened to you, and if they were aware they likely didn't care. His hand that runs through your hair, a tangled mess.

He leans forward, closing his eyes before pressing a kiss to the bruises all over your shoulders. A more active approach that he'd never do if you had been awake. His tongue darts out to lick the dried up blood on your neck as he groans in pleasure. His eyes flashing magenta for a brief moment. You tasted divine of course. He hadn't expected any less from his chosen mate. He breathes in your scent with a sigh before snaking his arms around you pressing you to his bare chest.

No one asked him to be so affectionate today. But he felt like he had to. A small bat of your eyelashes, and he had caved to your desires. His soft plum lips grazing your skin makes you shuffle a bit, and he pauses. Had he woken you up? No, you were merely settling into his arms once more and he forces himself to let his guard down. His hand stops at the base of your head as he pats the stray hair down. Knowing you liked that, he keeps his hand there. Hiding you away from the world. Pressing you to his chest. His and only his to keep.

He wasn't used to such calmness. It felt strange to be here in his current position. Laying down next to a ...mate? He questions and then chastises himself. 'She was only a plaything,' he mulls over to himself. A wonderful wrong decision. A vulnerability. That's what you were.

And when Sebastian would inevitably arrives to claim back what was his, you'd be the one caught in the crossfire. But I'm sure you won't mind, right? Why else would you stay when he so adamantly pushed you away? Save the excuses... You wanted to stay, and you'll pay a heavy price for it.

‿̩͙‿✧ ༺ ♥ ༻ ✧‿̩͙‿

(Honestly not super proud of this. I wrote it late at night, so not proof read. Its not the worst thing ive written lol. Also requests are open, so if you have any feel free to suggest.)

#Ch: Claudiee 💝✨ #black butler #black butler s2 #claude faustus x reader #claude faustus #black butler fic #black butler imagines #fanfiction writing #kuroshitsuji #claude x reader #Late night writing #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji 2 #black butler fanfiction #Claude Faustus x reader #black butler x y/n #black butler x you #kuroshitsuji x y/n #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x you #black butler Claude #black butler fandom #black butler scenarios #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji imagines #Anime imagines #Manga #Anime #ᴛʜɴx ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ 💟✨

[strawwritesfic]

Sebastian Michaelis x Female!Maid!Reader: College

Summary: At least he can give you one hell of a goodbye before they leave.

Rating/Tags: M (overt sexual references; Phantomhive Manor; major time skip from canon; college-bound!Ciel; Ciel without quotation marks; Sebastian & Ciel; Sebastian & Ciel & Reader; historical inaccuracies; not canon compliant)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Notes: I haven’t read Black Butler since 2012, and I haven’t watched the anime, period. However, because I have a friend that keeps up with the series from time to time, I am aware of some plot insanity that makes this scenario completely impossible. C’est la vie. 

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

College

A hollow sort of hush lay over the enormous house and all its grounds that hot August afternoon. The sun beat down on vacant flowerbeds and through the window panes into empty rooms. If any of the home’s usually raucous staff was there to see, none of them moved, none of them spoke. Their tasks were done, and what else was left but to wait for the inevitable? Wait they must. Being shouted at over their apathy was not much different than being shouted at for their enthusiasm.

Only two servants seemed to have escaped the oppressive moroseness that hung like a sheet over Phantomhive Manor. Hot as it was, sad as it was, they still had work to do. Down the deserted corridor, up the stairs, and inside the bare master bedroom stood the pair: a man, slender and dressed all in black, and a woman in a maid uniform. 

The curtains had been pulled back and the window opened in the hopes of letting in some cheer, or at least a breeze. It appeared to be working, for the woman smiled as she watched the man sift through the trunk on the floor.

He lifted his head from its depths with a sigh. “I suppose everything appears to be in order,” he told the woman at his side.

You grinned, pressing your palms together. “That should be the last of it, then! We’re all finished.”

“You say that now. No doubt Mey-Rin will decide to sneak in some last minute token of appreciation and upset things all over again.”

“And Finny will want him to take flowers to remember the place by, and Baldroy will recall how awful university food is and want to send him a whole month’s worth of rations.” A laugh at the expression on the man’s face could not be entirely avoided. “I don’t know where you think you get the right to look like that, Sebastian. I’m the one that has to stay here with them.”

Sebastian, for that was the butler’s name, and the maid’s was [Name], only carded a gloved hand through his messy bangs and collapsed on the end of the stripped bed. “You know that isn’t by my choice.”

“No, but I knew it would be the Earl’s choice from the beginning, even when he said he wanted to leave you here to look after things.” When Sebastian did nothing but continue to contemplate his knees, you lighted down next to him. “Still, I confess myself disappointed. It was nice to believe I might have you all to myself for a little bit.”

A quiet scoff, and then his hands found one of yours to hold between them. “I’m sure that’s why he decided to take me after all. Can’t have the butler having any free time, can we? Not to mention all the extremely useful things for a butler to do on a university campus.”

“Taking out the trash, finding his books at the library, cooking meals at two in the morning while he studies for an exam the next morning…”

He groaned. Giggle though you might have at Sebastian’s predicament, you could see how bone-tired he really was. And who could blame him? Ciel had been running him ragged, changing plans, changing them back, get this, get that, leave him alone, why was Sebastian not at his beck and call immediately? Of course even a demon would be exhausted–or annoyed. 

You bumped him lightly with your shoulder. “Hey, cheer up. I’ll be here to keep things running smoothly.”

“That’s the only thing keeping me from ripping that contract to pieces. No soul is worth this. Not even his.” Sebastian said this so dully that you might have believed he was serious, save for his dramatic fall against your side to rest his head on your shoulder and close his eyes.

“Then you’d miss out on seeing me every day,” you said.

The eyes opened up a sliver. “You’re not exactly worth it either.”

“True. I can almost promise the house won’t blow up while you’re away, but more than that…”

“There will be food and holes all over the walls. Garden dead. No clean laundry. Pantry empty. I’ll have to take each blunder out of your hide, you know.”

“That’s more like the Sebastian I know,” you breathed as you caught the smirk on his face. Your fingers danced through his hair for the shortest time imaginable before he twisted away to take your chin.

“In fact, all of these preparations might have gone more smoothly without your mistakes. It’s partially your fault that I’m considering giving my notice,” he said. “I should take that out of your hide now.”

Without further discussion, he pressed his lips to yours–“press” being the polite term for it. Heaven knew it was hot enough already. The two of you were already on a bed, however, and you were splayed across it, head spinning, before anything could be done to stop it. Sebastian’s mouth and other…admirable attributes made for a much better distraction from the warm summer and Ciel’s departure than any nonexistent breeze could. You gasped as you felt Sebastian hitch your skirts up, and–

“Here you two are. I trust you’ve finished the packing if you’ve decided you have time for a lark on my bed.”

You and Sebastian both sat up to find the master of the house--a young man with dark blue hair and an eye patch--standing in the doorway. His hands were on his hips and his usual peeved expression on his face. Ciel had found you in more compromising positions before, though, and his mind must have been too stuck on his upcoming trip to really be upset over such behavior from his servants–especially his only competent two. 

Sebastian bowed, a smile not quite making it to his face in time.

“And what is it that you are doing on my bed?” Ciel asked, eyebrow raised.

Sebastian did manage a smile at that. “If I couldn’t get my master packed for university and pleasure a woman at the same time, what sort of butler would I be?”

“More hygienic, I should hope.” Ciel lifted his eye heavenward and shook his head. “Sebastian, come along. I need to go over the wallpaper with you again. I don’t think the red was a good decision. [Name], get this room dressed up again. Why did you strip it? Or do you expect me to sleep on nothing when I come home for the holidays?”

“Yes, my lord,” you said, curtsying as you got a little unsteadily to your feet. 

No matter how many times Ciel walked in on you and Sebastian, you could never capture the same indifference as your companion. Too many real human emotions, you supposed. Not that that was going to stop you when Sebastian treated you like that.

“And you can go to the kitchen and help Baldroy when you’re done. I don’t want to hear another word about this going away feast he’s been prattling on about. Something light should do. I want to be situated by nine tomorrow morning, so Sebastian and I will be leaving at dusk.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And close the window. If I’d wanted the place aired out, I would have said.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Serves you right,” Sebastian said in a low voice, as Ciel turned out into the hallway once again. “I’ll see you this evening, for as long as the master allows it. So be ready.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said with a bit of a wicked grin.

Sebastian smirked again, but before any further promises of punishment could come, Ciel was back in the room. “Sebastian!”

“Coming, sir.”

You watched them go, still smiling for as long as you could. Eventually, you would have to go downstairs and be overcome by the rest of the staff’s grief. Eventually, you would have to say goodbye to Sebastian and your master both. But not just yet, you didn’t think. Years of service to the young earl, and you knew he was softer than he let on–well, softer to everyone but Sebastian. He wouldn’t be able to resist the feast once he actually came downstairs for dinner. 

And after? After the chores, after the tears, after the packing and repacking and packing again? You still had Sebastian for one more night. For a few minutes anyway. In between changing wallpaper and listening to Ciel complain about the heat.

#fan fic #straw writes #reader insert #second person pov #request #one shot #black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis x you #sebastian michaelis x y/n #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x you #kuroshitsuji x y/n #black butler reader insert #kuroshitsuji reader insert #sebastian michaelis reader insert

[tabibitto]

Pretty Little Liar | Black Butler

m.list

CW: little angst, heavy smut, corruption kink, breeding kink

A/N: yk this was originally drafted for a comfort/fluff and somehow my horny ass made it into my first official smut on my page. Eat well bitches.

Demons need no rest.

Those of which are often spoken of with disdain, cannot feel. They cannot taste what humans think delicious, they have no need for the mundane things such pathetically weak animals cannot survive without.

Their contract's contents vary. Simple things as an assassination to spending an entire human lifetime with someone. Fulfilling their every need, all whilst hiding their satanic facade behind a mask:

A loving husband, a doting father, a caring butler. Each mask carried a new name, a new aesthetic and set of rules to play.

Tonight, he continued his ongoing three years as Sebastian Michaelis, butler to a small and truly incapable child if it wasn't for him. Though, many things in this world, if truly credited. Would belong to his dark and burning world of fire and blood. Demons did not exist to rule over their inferior prey, they were not to mingle with histories unless directly ordered to by their contracts

Nothing, he did was without the rules of his contract. But Sebastian was never one to ignore loopholes. After all, such rules could be boring or too restricting for his liking.

Truly, honest to heaven and hell alike, if any of his kind were to see what he used loopholes and spare time for they would spit in his face and send him back to damnation. An utter laughingstock, a disgrace to the arts of soul cultivation.

His demonic nature, weakened and tweaked by that of whom he was supposed to consume after a goal was met.

Human.

Such a pretty one at that, inside and out. A rare thing to find among specimens. Especially, with a soul begging, calling for him to take as his own.

Sebastian never made double contracts, he didn't like the hassle of pleasing two people at once....in this scenario of course ;)

And yet for you, he would do anything.

For as long as Lord Phantomhive lived, he was free to do and be with you as he pleased. With you the mask fell and revealed his true, playful and cunning self. You never seemed to mind

In fact you relished in it, abused and used it to your pleasure and he would wallow in you over and over. Letting your fragile being wrap and caress his own. In return for protection, sex, love, lies, death.

Whatever you wished for. That would only be fair. A thing he never gave and only demanded to receive. Selfish

And with you he still was, selfish. Sebastian wanted you all to himself. A delicious slice of cake, waiting to be cut into.

With the way you allowed him to split you open, and use you as he pleased after doing what you wished of him.

How beautiful..how foolish to stain your soul with such a vile vermin as himself. Fuck, he loved all of it

Corrupting your pretty head until all you could utter was his given name, relishing in his touch, verbally needing his body, his kisses, his spit, his cum to corrupt you whole until your body became one with his. Until Satan himself planted the seed of damnation deep inside, and Sebastian would spend eternity using, loving and lying to you.

Whatever pretty little lie it would be, you two would exchange empty words, read out a script of new lives in the human world over and over, cultivating a human, ripping into it alongside him..

"S-Sebastian! Seb...ngh.. Sebastian slow down p-please~" You pleaded, tears streaming down your face as you clawed at the hand clutching your throat. Gasping for air yet wanting him to take it from you. your body curling inwards into his hips. Wanting to runaway yet you couldn't... wouldn't move until he filled your little cunt to the brim with his corruption.

You knew what he was. Who he was. Yet that didn't stop you from wanting him in fact you needed his attention more. You demanded more of him, cruelly, lovingly Moreso then that master of his. Yet he didn't seem agitated like with every other living being in his presence

Sebastian almost seemed to enjoy your demands, he found your control over him amusing and he couldn't wait to see what you wanted next. His smug and knowing smiles a complete mockery of you, he knew full well you never were in charge once you were in his chambers

His frustration on everyone else, his need for his master's soul, his desire for your pussy wrapped around his cock, your mouth's snug fit on him. All of it taken out on your delicate body.

His frustration could never be with you. No his pretty princess was too perfect of a specimen for Sebastian to get mad at that's why he was your plaything during the day. Sebastian Michaelis was yours

But at night. During the witching hour you were reduced to a simple fuck toy, a cuddle partner, a friend, a lover, whatever he wanted you for you gave to him. You were his.

Sebastian let go of your reddening throat, and just as he heard you choke out a breath of life, he shoved your face into the pillows, pounding his hips down with all his weight into your quivering hole, muffling your screams into his bed, unused for years and only now did it begin to warm with your body lying next to his after every session.

"My..what a whore ive got all to myself...look at you~"

Sebastian shifted over in the bed and turned you around so you were facing the mirror on his wall. Roughly pulling your head back, wrapping a free arm around your waist as he made you watch yourself be fucked like the toy he loved you for

"You know im a demon, you know once my contract is over ill be done with you just as ill be done with him. My summoning was his doing, and my disappearance will all be his as well. And yet you so eagerly await me here every night for payment of all i do for you."

You heard every word loud and clear, yet as a response you could only babble about how his tip pushing into your g-spot with every thrust felt so good. Truly pathetic

"You like this don't you hmm? Tell me pretty, you like when i come and fuck this hole every night? Fill that pussy of yours full."

He spat dirty words into your ear, and his rough and hard thrusts increased in speed until he had to occupy your mouth with his to muffle your screams as he fucked you stupid.

"More! More please more more more moreee....fuck!" Squealing before growing silent, you trembled as you came, pulsating around him. Knees tingling into numbness.

After a moment of being on cloud nine, you were thrown down onto the bed, Sebastian pulled out and you whimpered at the loss.

Suddenly feeling your leg being yanked open in missionary, Sebastian pulled you to him, pushing your legs up into your chest as he aligned himself with you once more.

Taking away every ounce of rest you might have, every thought became his and nothing in this world was needed more then his cock rutting into you like the animal he was.

Use him, fuck him, love him.

Until lies become truth, love becomes pain, grief into joy, Sebastian be your plaything and you his.

And then he will cease from your life, mere dust in the wind.

A faint and insignificant memory of what could have been.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #Kuroshitsuji sebastian #Sebastian Michaelis #Demon #demon butler #ciel phantomhive #phantomhive family #corruption kink #black butler fanfic #black butler smut #black butler ciel #Sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis x reader #black butler x y/n #black butler x you #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x you #kuroshitpost #demon smut #demon slayer #Sebastian smut #fem reader

[coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic]

Distracted pt 1

Part 2 ->

Sebastian Michaelis x Fem!Reader

THIS IS SMUT MINORS PLS DO NOT.

CW: “Dear/Darling” terms used, oral f!receiving, 🐶style, multiple climaxes.

You’re the new maid at the Phantomhive manor and we’re going on your third day of training. You being a single woman with not much history of romance you figured being a maid of a high class family would be a breeze. Freedom after hours, beautiful housing, etc. Until you met the head butler, Sebastian and God is he gorgeous. I mean this man is the most attractive human being you’ve ever laid your eyes on and he was basically perfect as what he does. No flaw or hiccup in anything he did, it was almost scary. He couldn’t have been human. Even him looking at you from a time to time throughout the day would send a wave through your body, causing you to feel a little needy. You held out though, not wanting to be distracted on your new job. I guess you understood why that red headed main Mey-Rin was so clumsy especially around Sebastian.

You were going about your daily tasks, the laundry for the house, nobody touched the young lord Ciel’s clothing other than Sebastian himself and honestly you were thankful for that, less work for you to do.

Today was difficult, given you haven’t even touched yourself since before you had started your new line of work, and you had a fairy high drive that you used to keep up with on a nightly basis. But given the new environment and close quarters to your co-workers you held off and damnit was it getting rough. Sebastian had manually shown you a few things to practice for the up and coming ball that were to be held in the manor and he wanted to make sure you knew how to dance properly, it’s unlikely you’d be asked but there was always a chance he needed you prepared.

-flashback to that morning-

Sebastian walked over to you with his soft smile he always had on his face, his perfect pale face. “Ah, y/n just the woman I was looking for. Come. I need you to do something for me.” You didn’t say much as you followed him into an open area in the manor. “Dance with me a moment.” He extended his hand out waiting for you to take it. You weren’t the best dancer but you never had to do it much before. You sheepishly put your hand in his, your face saying everything you were feeling. The anxiety, the unease and the overthinking. Sebastian gave a grin and squeezed your hand slightly. “Don’t be nervous my dear, I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” He pulled you close, chests touching, his hand placed on your slower back, his touch is firm yet soft somehow. He’s warm, comfortingly warm.

Oh gosh, he’s so close to you. He smells nice, clean. Of course he does. He’s perfect. As Sebastian guides you through the basic steps and possible moves one could do in a traditional dance, he grew slightly irritated as you kept looking down at your feet, soon the hand holding your back moved up to your chin and lifted your gaze to his red eyes. “Y/n. It’s rude not to look at your dance partner. It shows that you’re uninterested. Look at me from now on, understand?” He was grinning, he knew he had you wrapped around his finger and it was annoying. How could you just stare at him the whole time, your body wasn’t prepared for that much eye contact. Let’s just say it was incredibly difficult to look at him, unwavering and not fumble with your steps but you somehow managed to get through it.

-end of flashback-

Yeah, that whole ordeal replaying in your head wasn’t helping your needy situation whatsoever. You kept spacing on the simplest thing and fumbling more than usual, it was irritating you so much. Finnian asked several times if you felt alright, he must’ve blabbed to Sebastian because soon enough the tall pale figure walked over to you. His eyes held a look of concern. “Y/n, Finnian told me you weren’t feeling well. Is that true?” He asked, leaning ever so slightly over you, his eyes dancing over your body. “Oh! No Sebastian. I’m fine really, thanks for checking on me-” you were cut off by his hand on your forehead, which caused you to start blushing. His eyebrow quirked up and he sighed. “Ah, you’ve got a slight fever, come now.” He p i c k e d you up bridal style and carried you towards your quarters. It was quiet in there given that everyone else was working around the manor. It was just you two.

You protested a few times on the way until he laid you onto your bed, walking over to your door and locking it.

What..?

Your eyebrows furrowed a bit and you looked up at Sebastian, “i- um. What are you doing, Sebastian?” You ask shyly, your mind going crazy at all the possible reasons, of course focusing on the dirtiest outcomes. He walked back over towards you, sitting next to you on the bed, reaching for the back of your dress.

“One with a fever shouldn’t undress themselves. If Mey-Rin were to do it, I fear she’d rip your uniform. That’d be a hassle for me to repair. If it makes your more comfortable I can do this blindfolded.” You could feel his gloved hands tickle your back, you weren’t wearing an undershirt, this uniform was quite warm when working sometimes. You breathe deep and slow, attempting to calm your nerves and hormones running rampant. “N-no it’s fine I-… I can do it.” You could very well do it yourself, but Sebastian doing it was a fantasy becoming reality. You thought it wouldn’t get much harder until you felt a warm breath on your neck, a low voice in your ear and a hand under your uniform holding firmly onto your waist. “I know what your issue is dear, you’re a bit… pent. I know the scent anywhere.” You turn and face him, bright red across your face. “H-hey!” He was incredibly close, impossibly close without kissing you. “S-Sebasti-“ he put a finger on your lips. “If you try and keep quiet I can help you. If you’d like of course.”

What?

Your eyes grew heavy as you gave into him, how could you not? He closed the distance between you and kissed you deeply, you whining as he did so, feeling such a touch for the first time in so long was bliss, it was dirty, it was sinful but it felt so good. His eyes open, his hands running about your body, feeling every curve, every crevice, remembering your shape and taking note on every special spot that seemed to get you going. One of his hands going up your skirt, onto your thighs, pulling down a stocking and laying you onto your back. Your body’s senses were on high and every touch felt like a fire being sent to your core. This was unlike anything you’ve felt before, it was intense and he was simply touching you. He swiftly pulled up your skirt and placed his thumb on your throbbing clit, making slight movements. You pull away from the kiss with a gasp and pushed the back of your head into the pillow beneath you, biting your lip to fight the moan wanting so desperately to escape. Your climax already beginning to build from this small stimulation. Sebastian placed his lips upon your neck, leaving small bites on your sensitive areas. His fingers moving gracefully over your clothed pussy, he felt how excited you were, the soaked panties were a dead giveaway for anyone but he could smell how aroused you were, which got him excited. Not that his body showed signs of it but internally he was going to devour you. He finally pulled back and pulled your panties down, revealing a wet mess. He didn’t miss a beat starting to eat you out, there was no warning, no teasing. Just his tongue on your hot core. You went to moan but his hand swiftly covered your mouth which drove you mad, he was good. Almost instinctually you moved your head and began to suck on his gloved fingers. He looked up at you and stopped for a moment, hands on either side of you, just looming above you. He pulled his hand out and let his fingertips linger at your lips. “Bite the glove.” He commanded, you did so and he slipped his hand out. “Good girl. I didn’t realize you were so naughty. Maybe you needed this more than I thought.” He threw the glove out of your mouth and resumed position. Fingers in your mouth and tongue back onto you. You wanted nothing more than for him to fuck you silly right then and there. But the things his tongue could somehow manage to do were inhuman, your climax quickly built, it was almost embarrassing. You whined and whimpered as you came, your whole body tensing up as he rode your through your climax, letting it settle before pulling away, a trail of your cum and his saliva connecting you and his mouth. He smirked, almost amused on how quickly that happened. “My my. How sweet you taste.” Oh my God.

As his fingers left your mouth you sat up and reached for his pants. He allowed you to undo his buttons, watching intently as he removed the other glove that remained on his right hand.

As you finally got his dick out, it was hard and ready, you were about to take it in your mouth before he put a hand on your shoulder, pushing you back. “No no, this is about you. I’ll enjoy myself plenty. Just submit.” You bit your lip, glancing back down at his member. “Y-yes sir.” He sure did like obeisance. He got off the bed and gestured tot he edge. “Bend over.” Holy shit what? You blinked and slowly began to move, he sighed. “Quickly now.” He grabbed your hips and brought you in front of him, lifting you with ease, turning you away and pushing you forward onto the bed. It was such a vulnerable position, your skirt covering you until he lifted the fabric and placed it onto your back.

You felt his tip meet your entrance and you whispered “oh fuck..” you heard a giggle, did he hear you?

“Such a filthy little mouth.”

He didn’t warn you, he rammed into you, having you take his entire length immediately, you couldn’t help but moan out as he did so. He soon grabbed a fistful of your pretty hair and put your face to the mattress. “Quiet now, I’m about to begin.” You bit your lip hard as he showed you no mercy. His quick and rough pace were enough to make you see the gates of heaven themselves. Well maybe gates of hell with how this was going. You were burying your face into the mattress moaning into it to muffle whatever you could. His name was your new favorite word, along with a string of words of your full submission. You felt your core begin to heat back up as you felt another orgasm coming quickly. He obviously felt it too as you tighten around his dick, your walls memorizing his shaft and forming to welcome it. It was the first sound you heard from him, a subtle grunt but it was proof of his own pleasure from this.

The room was filled with lewd sounds. The muffled moans, the slaps of your bodies, the absolute mess you were creating, the creaking of your bed frame. All of it being permanently trapped in the walls of your quarters. You’d never walk in here again and not think about this.

“That’s right. Cum for me, darling. Be a good girl and cum.” That was it, you were sent flying over your edge with another intense climax, bigger than the one before. As he slowed down your body twitched at every subtle move, you attempted to regain your breath but you could hardly move your legs. “S-Sebastian… but you didn’t...” You looked over your shoulder at him while he was cleaning up from the utter mess you made on his dick. “Oh dear y/n, I’m not sure you could handle the work it would take for me to cum myself.” He smirked. The way he said it didn’t make it sound condescending or cocky, just matter of fact. You shot up, shakily. Looking at him. “No! I can! I don’t want you to be disappointed or left unattended to!” He lifted your chin up once again, getting absurdly close. “Trust me darling, I’d break you. I don’t want to do that. If I want some more fun, you’ll hear a knock. Now rest.” With that he left you, in your sex filled room, cum soaked sheets and disheveled hair. What a filthy girl you are.

#fanfic #my writing #x reader #x y/n #sebastian michaelis #black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler smut #mdni #sebastian x reader #Sebastian michaelis x reader #Sebastian Michaelis smut #smut

[blue-sterling0357]

how about some ciel headcanons with a demon s/o? not with angst, like s/o is a young chaos demon that just squeezed themselves on the contract so s/o helps ciel with his work and so.

🐈‍⬛ anon

(I remember a very similar thing of demon! Ciel with a albino! demon! S/O, it's quite cute, but I'm not adding it here! Hope you enjoy reading this!)

Ciel with a Demon! S/O

✣ You met Ciel, when Sebastian introduced you both to each other. Sebastian was an elder demon who used to follow you since he met you because he had this instinct to follow you, no matter what you do and he was right as you being a chaos demon happens to be quite harming to his contracts...

✣ Whenever you would get even a hundred mile near the person he has a contract with, they would get in some type of wierd situation, but he enjoys your company even though he hates all demons, except you as you're quite helpful and you knew how to protect his masters and wouldn't be salavting over his master's soul, like he though you would.

✣ So, upon his introducing you, Ciel took you in as one of his maids and upon taking you in, he noticed the immediate change it had on the manor, the trio would cause less problems for him, Sebastian's cats aren't shoing up as often, the place is often clean and Elizabeth ins't decorating it in embarrasing yet cute decor he hates so much.

✣ As he slowly developed feelings and you both started dating, he got to learn about you being a chaos demon, he learnt how Sebastian would protect him from you accidentally bringing chaos everywhere you go, but he doesn't care as you bringing chaos isn't going to change his loves for you.

✣ He is actually quite happy you're a demon, it's because he knows you won't die and it definitely won't be easy to kill, with Sebastian polishing your skills and helping you and though you're younger and around Ciel's age in demon years, you're a fast learner, except sometimes in battles you zone out, but are still fighting and dodging your enemy amazingly except you're staring into nothing...It concerns both Ciel and Sebastian as is this even normal?

✣ Ciel now has another protector, also since you eat the souls of certain people who try to attack Ciel and have a tasty soul, you're rather full and have no need of eating Ciel's soul. If it's Sebastian who kills the perpetrator, he will bring those souls to you, but only if they are high quality souls, he refuses to have his child/sibling/problem child figure have low quality and disgusting souls..

✣ Ciel allows you wayyyy more freedom than he allows Sebastian, like you have brought in three, white tigers in the manor, and Ciel didn't even care, he was also wearing a mask, did those even exist back then? But anyways, Seb is jealous at the amount of freedom you have, except it goes away when you invite him to cuddle with those three, adult, white tigers.

✣ Also, you're just as talented in things as Sebastian despite being at such a young age like you already know 21 languages, can manipulate anyone you want, great st using multiple weapons at the same time, fighting and dodging while drinking a smoothie or eating a cake at the same time. And even though Sebastian says it's because of him, Ciel doesn't believe him because he believes you're just amazing like that!

✣ If you're happy with showing him your horns and wings on occasions, he would love to groom them, clean them, wash them and polish them nicely for you and he does it so often, he knows everything about demon self-care, you'd look all shiny and whenever you and Sebastian show each-other your wings and horns, he's surprised at how clean they are, despite knowing how you don't clean regularly...

✣ Oh, speaking of wings, he loves to cuddle you and sleep with you while you have your wings out, he gets all whiny and upset if you refuse to show them to him when you go to sleep because they're dirty or smell or whatever because you know he will drag you to clean them no matter how late at night it is, cause he now can't sleep without stroking, touching or cuddling your wings..Have fun!

✣ Overall, he doesn't really care, but he's less possessive because he knows demons don't fall for just anyone they meet, only special chosen one, so you won't fall for anybody else and because he knows you won't die during a stupid assassin!

#ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel phantomhive x y/n #ciel x reader #black butler ciel phantomhive #black butler ciel #ciel phantomhive #ciel phantomhive icons #ciel phantomhive x you #black butler fanfiction #black butler #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #black butler x male reader #black butler x female reader #black butler headcanons #ciel phantomhive headcanons #ciel phantomhive imagine #ciel phamtonhive #kuroshitsuji ciel #kuroshitsuji headcanons #kuroshitsuji imagines #kuroshitsuji sebastian #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitpost #kuroshitsuji fanfiction #ciel imagines #ciel x male reader #kuroshitsuji x you #kuroshitsuji x reader

[bugsyfics]

DEFLOWER — S. MICHAELIS

✰ 10: 04 - [virginity kink] ✰

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

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

kinktober '23 m.list

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#not sfw #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis smut #black butler sebastian #black butler fandom #black butler imagines #black butler x reader #black butler scenarios #black butler x y/n #black butler fanfiction #black butler smut #kuroshitsuji smut #kuroshitsuji sebastian #kuroshitsuji x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis #kintober 2023 #kinktober

[fanfictionsworld]

Things in L/n,Michaelis and Faustus household that just make sense

I have been thinking about this for a long time so lets get into it.

Spider webs for Clauds spiders which by the way are everywhere.

Three pet cats which Sebastian found on the street,whcih y/n and Claude told that he should wash since he found them on the streets.He was deeply offended by you since you sided with Claude on this one.You just simply told him that you do not what flees or any type of disease they might carry,and reminded him that your just as much a cat person as is he.

Dancing shows that Claude owns which are always by the door.

Picture of three of you at the amusement park on which you look happy and both of them look like they wanna kill each other.

A first aid kit for when you hurt your self or bump into the doors,wall,wardrobes,etc.Which is very concerning.

A cabinet just for you favorite snacks,drinks,sweets,etc.

Five bedrooms in the house.

One is Sebastians for his free time which is petting the cats.

One for Claude for his knitting and for his spiders.

One for you when you just can not deal with them,there is also a bag of sault in your room for times when you mad at them and you draw a line which they can not pass unless you remove.

One big room for three of you which consistes of a very large bed with five pillows and blanket made of silk,two sofas,book shelfs,a gramophone,one big wardrobe,rug with spider and crow prints,one large mahogany desk filled with your work and there work and a fire place.

The fifth room is for the cats which you insisted on having because your jealous that they spend to much time with him which Sebastian teases' you about relentlessly.

Two bathrooms with large tubs,botells of your favourite shampoo,thooth brushes,hair brush the best kind,pads,for some reason condoms,skin care products of the highst caulitly,large mirror above the sink decorated in the Victorian style.

A large sittingroom with a coffiee table,all sort's of your favorite flowers,beautiful curtness made from the finest matirials,a very long sofa with a two armchairs and a few fluffy blankets which you three use mostly you when its cold,a big screen television and under it is a very large fire place.

Beautiful garden with lots of fruit and vegetables which Sebastian and Claude planted them selfs,they love when they have fresh ingredients cooking you the finest meals with them.

Small table with a few chairs and lounge chairs when you wanna sun tan.

Kitchen consistes of a large oven a small table with four chairs,a pantry which they keep all sorts of spices,flower,suger,vegertables,fruit,etc.

Large refrigerator for oil,meat,milk,yougrt,chesse,egss,etc.

And at last a front porch with a very comfortable bench and a table where in the dusk you three sit as you talk about anything and everything.

#sebastian michaelis #kuroshitsuji sebastian #black butler sebastian #sebastian michaelis smut #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis smut #yandere sebastian michaelis #black butler #black butler imagines #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #black butler x female reader #claude faustus #kuroshitsuji claude #Sebastian x Reader x Claude #claude x reader #black butler smut #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x y/n #kuroshitsuji x you #kuroshitsuji smut #kuroshitsuji headcanons #black butler headcanons

[dawn-moths]

"Birthday Wishes"

Undertaker x Female Reader

word count: 3,700+

(@fanfictionsworld requested: spending your birthday with Undertaker from my Cause to Start a Vendetta AU.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! fluff with some smut at the end, oral sex (reader receiving), use of the word “Daddy”, reader is called “princess, baby, sweetheart”.

*ao3 mirror*

***

You’d been counting down the days for weeks now, your birthday circled on the calendar with a big pink glitter gel pen heart several times over, every day crossed off that crawled closer to the day— your day— making you more and more excited.

Because, as you’d quickly grown accustomed to being spoiled by Undertaker— special occasion or otherwise— your birthday was no exception to being showered with all the love and luxury he had at his disposal.

“Morning, princess…” he cooed, gently smoothing down some of your sleep-tousled hair with a big, cool palm, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you blinked open beary eyes, wrapped in his arms and the many layers of blankets that twisted and tangled about your bodies sprawled across the bed.

“Morning, Daddy…” you replied, voice soft and delicate as the lingering dredges of slumber clung to your tone, an angelic little grin curving up on your sweet lips as you nuzzled closer into Undertaker’s chest, seeking out his elusive warmth.

For a moment, nearly forgetting what today was as you drifted in and out of consciousness, your figure filling with the heavy weight of sleep once more, your eyelids fluttered closed and your breathing began to turn slow and shallow. Undertaker rubbed a hand up and down your back, stirring you back to the waking world and smiling to himself as you let out a big yawn, nose scrunching adorably with the expression.

“If you want to go back to sleep,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your nose and causing a fragile giggle to bubble up in your chest, “I won’t stop you. But that would certainly be a shame when we have so many fun things on our to-do list today.”

That was enough to entice you, your mind suddenly much more alert than before, and you snaked your arms up to gently rest over his shoulders. “Just a few more minutes…” you said, pressing yourself even closer to him, wishing you could bask in the safety of his touch forever. “Then I promise I’ll get up.”

A smooth, sonorous chuckle vibrated through his bones, the sound warming you from the inside out like hot milk and honey. “Alright, sweetheart,” he said, allowing himself to melt back to a more relaxed state as well. “Just a few more minutes…”

As the sun crept further through the cracks of the curtains, bright beams painting the ornate master bedroom with thin strokes of gold, stirring up the wispy clouds of dust motes swirling through the air, Undertaker coaxed you into finally rising, draping one of his big, fluffy black robes over your shoulders when you became burdened with a chill, the mansion’s usual temperature kept low upon his preference.

Once your feet were dressed in your favorite pair of fluffy socks and even fluffier slippers, you took Undertaker’s hand and let him guide you down the wide halls to the curving staircase, heading towards the kitchen where you could already smell your special birthday breakfast.

The long dining table was decorated to the nines with all kinds of balloon bouquets and bundles of black and white roses overflowing from crystal vases. Spelled out in gold glitter confetti at one end of the display was HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCESS punctuated by a big heart. At the other was a full selection of all your breakfast favorites— souffle pancakes piled high with bananas and melty chocolate chips, strawberry french toasts drizzled with sticky maple syrup and sprinkled with a frosty snowfall of powdered sugar, fluffy scrambled eggs and yogurt parfaits and fruit arranged by color.

You sucked in a gasp of delight, hands clasped before your chest as you eagerly surveyed the scene, looking up at your Daddy like he’d outdone himself.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he said, extending a hand towards the chair at the head of the table— his usual chair, the master’s chair, the dining room’s throne— and pulling it out for you to sit in, taking the seat adjacent to it to join you in the morning’s sugary culinary experience.

Over the meal— you choosing a bit of everything to pile onto your plate in an orderly array, because why should you have to choose just one when today you could have whatever your little heart desired— you and Undertaker began to discuss the day’s itinerary.

There was a packed schedule planned indeed— a shopping outing at all your most beloved designer stores, afternoon tea at the Ritz, exploring some of the artsy nooks and crannies of the city and dropping into your favorite bookstore all before hopping on the Aurora Society’s private jet and taking the hour and a half flight to your favorite five star restaurant in Paris, sure to end the evening by enjoying your usual penthouse suit of the expensive hotel that gave the best view among any of the establishments around.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing,” Undertaker slyly prompted just as you were about to head upstairs to get changed and ready for the events ahead, thoughts already spinning trying to decide what you wanted to wear. You stopped and considered him with an adorably cute expression for a moment until he pulled a big gift bag from under the table where he’d hidden it from you, the glossy black packaging stuffed with glittering silver tissue paper and two perfect satin ribbons serving as the handles. “You know,” he shrugged as he slid it towards you on the table, drinking in your awe, never growing tired of how easily you seemed to be innocently surprised sometimes, “just in case you felt like going out in something new.”

Carefully, as if the wrapping itself was just as valuable as the gift, you plucked the sparkling tissue paper away to uncover the pristinely wrapped box beneath, a marbling of glossy and matte black swirling over the decorative paper like ink dropped into water. The moment the first half of your favorite clothing brand’s name was visible to you, you shot him a glance, as if to say, “you shouldn’t have” despite believing down to your very core that you deserved every expensive, extravagant thing that Undertaker placed in your cute little lap.

Once you lifted the garment from where it had been perfectly folded within its box, holding it up to your body as if to sample how it would look before trying it on, you heard Undertaker sigh, a dreamy, lilting hum tailing off the end of it. “Exquisite…” he remarked, and you now held the dress out from your body, studying the intricate craftsmanship that had been hand stitched into the garment as you smiled to yourself, eyes sparkling.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “It really is.”

But then Undertaker was by your side, having moved soundlessly, his even stride gliding across the short distance to meet you. “I wasn’t talking about the dress,” he murmured, big hands settling on your hips. “Now, why don’t you head upstairs and start getting ready.”

You turned your face up to his, met his lips when he was close enough for a kiss, and muttered out a sweet little, “Thank you, Daddy,” before following his instruction and heading for the staircase.

He watched you go, saw the skip in your step as you ventured off, only returning to clearing the table once you disappeared down the long second story hallway and out of his view. He was going to look forward to taking that dress off of you later, unwrapping you like his own special gift by the time night draped itself over the sky.

***

The afternoon had been like a dream, you and your lover floating from one location to the next to try on extravagant clothing and sample imported teas, the two of you practically waltzing through the downtown streets where you longed to see what new installments the local London artists put up around the city before you’d lost track of time perusing your favorite bookstore, a good two hours going by without you even noticing as you strategically searched for the next story to get yourself hooked on.

But as the sky began to fade from blue to gold, it signaled that dinner was soon approaching, which meant you two had a plane to catch if you wanted to arrive to your reservation on time.

The hostess greeted you two with a friendly smile, addressing you both by name, the entire restaurant staff made familiar with London’s most notorious boss and the beautiful girl who was always on his arm, Undertaker making short, lighthearted conversation with the manager in French while they crossed paths on the walk to your usual table, the man chuckling at something your Daddy had said, forever able to charm anyone if he set his mind to it, it seemed.

As you both enjoyed the delicacies of the six course meal, you continued to talk and laugh, never running out of topics to converse about, though tonight you were most excited to tell him all about the book you’d recently finished and your expectations for the new one you’d chosen on your earlier excursion, having heard nothing but praise for the acclaimed tale.

Once the horizon had lost its lilac blush and sunk deep into the velvet navy of nightfall though, you knew you were just about to enter into yet another phase of your luxurious birthday festivities.

***

You could smell the roses from down the hall before the doors to your hotel suite in Paris even opened. The entirety of the three connected rooms were decked from floor to ceiling in at least one hundred thousand dollars worth of florals, vibrant reds and sultry blacks, flawless creams and even a dash of lovely soft pinks.

You could’ve cried at how gorgeous it all was, blinking the mist from your eyes as you spun in slow circles about the place, taking it all in. Undertaker’s hands found your shoulders to steady you, stopping your awestruck turns to face the beautiful birthday cake on the hotel room’s center table, the special dessert shaped like a heart and iced in a rainbow of your favorite colors, several candles placed strategically on the top and already lit, small flames glowing and beckoning you over to make a wish.

But what could you possibly wish for when you already had everything you’d ever want or need— a gorgeous man who loved you, showering you in every stunning thing life had to offer, as simple as the snap of his fingers or a wave of his hand— besides to continue living this blessed life that had found its way to you, through trial and tribulation?

Taking a few steps forward towards the cake, you choked out through a shaky breath, “Oh my god…” unable to hold back your tears any longer, a few sparkling drops running down your cheeks, glittering like gold as they caught the amber of the flickering firelight. You looked back at Undertaker, who was not far behind you, and wondered if you’d ever be able to convey how much this all meant to you. It almost seemed unfair. He’d always be able to do more for you than you would for him, though he never seemed to mind.

For him, just having you— his sweet, precious baby girl to dote on and adore as much as he pleased— was far more than enough. All you had to do was exist. All you had to do was be his.

“Well, go on,” he lightly urged, a calm smile playing at the corner of his lips as he gestured towards the center table. “The candles won’t blow themselves out, now will they?”

You smiled, big and bright, and let out a sound that could only be described as pure joy. Undertaker was addicted to that sound, the way it rang out like the delicate jingle of bells, the way it warmed him like the sun’s rays after so much rain. It made everything he’d ever done, good, bad, or somewhere in between, all worth it. Just to see you smile at him like that, just to hear you laugh. Just to know it was him who’d been the orchestrator of such emotions.

And as you let out a strong gust of a breath, turning each melting birthday candle from flame to smoke, you realized you did have one wish you wanted to make afterall.

Let things be like this forever, you thought to yourself, like a silent prayer. Let us stay as in love for the rest of our lives as we are right now, in this moment.

Undertaker cut the cake, a piece for you and a piece for him, and then the two of you sat by the counter outlooking the spotless floor to ceiling windows that gave way to the sprawling view of the City of Light, the night sky clear and sparkling with little bursts of silver stars overhead.

You talked and joked and laughed while you both enjoyed your dessert, your chair pressed right next to his, close enough that you could lean your head over to rest against the side of his shoulder while his arm slung across your back, hugging you closer to him, his most cherished treasure.

“You know…” you began, gazing dreamily out the window at the romantic scene the city offered. Then, casting him a glance from where you were nestled into his side, you said, “I think this might really be the best birthday ever.”

Something in his eyes softened a shade then, and in response Undertaker lightly took your chin between his lithe fingers, tilting your mouth just ever so slightly upwards so he could lean down to meet it. You hadn’t expected the kiss, languid and savoring at first as you parted your lips to let him in, both of you tasting like your favorite flavor of cake, soon turning more hungry, having you straddling his lap and blinded by the blissful haze that was slowly filling you from the inside out.

When he finally broke away, leaned back just far enough to look you in the eyes, gently wiping the cool pad of his thumb across the plush of your bottom lip, glossy from your mingled saliva, a weak attempt to clean you up a bit, he said, “I guess that means I’ll have to go above and beyond next year,” and you laughed and nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as you felt yourself relax over him.

“No, but really…” you murmured. “Thank you, Daddy. For everything. Always.”

All you got as a warning for what happened next was a low, lilting chuckle humming in his chest before he was hoisting you up, big hands splayed against the backs of your thighs as he began to carry you elsewhere in the suite.

“Where are we going?” you playfully asked, though you already had a pretty good idea.

“There’s still a few hours until midnight,” he remarked, a new kind of vigor in his voice and stride. He set you down on the edge of the king-sized bed, beginning to shrug off his jacket and tug his belt buckle free of its loops as he added, “Which means your birthday’s not over yet, princess.”

The smirk that spread across his face then made that fluttering creature resting in your lower belly roll over inside of you, beginning to wake, soon asking to be satisfied like a dog scratching at the door begging for treats, relentless until it was given its desired reward. It wasn’t long before Undertaker was hooking his grip under your thighs again, pulling you further down the bed where he then knelt at the foot of it.

You gave him an uncertain and slightly suspicious look as he flicked his emerald gaze up to meet yours. Usually, he liked to undress you, strip you down piece by piece before ridding himself of his own clothing, admiring every inch of your bare body like it was the most masterful work of art. Then he’d pin you down, his prized butterfly, and get to work at soaking both your bodies with pleasure before wringing them dry, squeezing you for every last lustful drop he could.

But tonight— on your night— he figured he’d do things a little differently. Give you one last birthday surprise before the clock struck twelve.

“Just relax, sweetheart…” he cooed, carefully bunching your new dress up around your waist, exposing the expensive lace clinging to the most delicate parts of you and drinking in the sight like it rivaled even that of the one just beyond the windows. “Let Daddy make you feel good…”

Undertaker pressed gentle kisses to the soft raise of your lower belly, and you felt your tight little hole futter and your sensitive bud pulse as he slowly removed your panties, your already damp core causing them to cling to you a moment before the cool air sighed against your damp slit.

Undertaker ran a long finger through your dewy folds, making your next breath catch as he slipped it inside of you to gather more of your slick before rubbing it against your puffy clit, already swollen with arousal, pulling one of those adorable whines from your throat as you lay one arm over your eyes, the other sprawled out across the bed, little fingers twisting into the sheets, trying to grab hold of anything while you still had the chance.

“That’s it, baby…” he praised, helping to spread you wider for him, a leg thrown over one of his broad shoulders as he continued to tease you. His next words sent a puff of his warm breath against your cunt, and you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation, exhaling a shuddering sigh. He whispered, “I’m gonna take good care of you, baby,” and when he licked a flat-tongued stripe up your pussy, you let out a soft, broken whine, back already beginning to arch a little at the sinfully sweet feel of him.

Undertaker was skilled at a lot of things— running a business, making money, getting away with murder— but the thing you thought he was best at, above all else, was pleasuring you.

It was effortless, the way he knew exactly what to do that made you body bend to his command, melting your mind until all you knew was the press of his hips or the wet warmth of his mouth, the indents of his teeth, his fingerprints, all of it branded into you so no matter where you looked on your own body there would be a reminder of him, like a promise, a gift.

You were clenching the silky sheets in your trembling fist as he speared his tongue into you, his sharp nose nudging against your clit every time and forcing moan after delicious, high-pitched moan out of you like that was the only sound you’d ever known how to make. If he thought your laugh was syrupy sweet, then your moans were something else entirely, something far more addicting or satisfying than sticky, sickly sweet sugar. More like a drug to him, making him addicted in a way that, once he got a taste, he couldn’t stop. Not until you had nothing left to give, his pursuit at seeing just how far or how long he could make you go merciless time and time again.

“P-please—” you sobbed, the new veil of tears that had welled in your eyes causing your lashes to clump and spike together with every fluttering roll of your eyes back into your head. His pace was voracious, wanting to devour you down to your very core. You could barely get half a broken plea out before it was interrupted by a surrendering mewl or a soundless gasp, mouth hung open in ecstasy before he prepared to shatter you. “Please— I’m gonna—”

But before you could even speak the last word of your sentence, let alone remember it, Undertaker had you coming undone, unraveling you like a frayed thread on a silk scarf, pulling you apart until there was nothing left but a tangle of string he could then rearrange into any shape he pleased.

Your chest rose and fell with short, shallow, panting breaths, rigid form relaxing back into the mattress, body gone all pliable and boneless once the remaining tension melted away. Meanwhile, Undertaker pressed gentle kisses to the sensitive insides of your stained thighs, palms gently petting you as you drifted down from the high and back into the garden of Eden he’d planted, nurtured, and grown just for you.

Normally, he’d barely give you enough time to recover before commencing round two, but, as he seemed to be a little more patient with you on this most special of days, he allowed your heart to slow to a steady rhythm and your breathing to smooth out into even inhales and exhales before shifting over you, darting out his tongue to lick at his own lips to catch one last obscene taste of you before wiping away your glistening arousal from the bottom half of his pale face with the back of his hand.

As he stared down at you through half-lidded eyes, the vibrant green of them almost glowing through the dim dark of the bedroom, he said, as if only to himself, “Just look at you… So gorgeous… My beautiful girl…” as he helped free you the rest of the way from your pretty birthday dress, mindfully folding it and placing it on the nearest bedside drawer so it didn’t get ruined.

Because he did intend to ruin you.

He intended to ruin you in all the right ways.

As he shed his own clothing like a black-skinned snake, all those silvery scars wrapped around alabaster flesh now on full display, you reached out for him, wanting, craving, needing to feel the press of his body back on yours before the ebbing pleasure made you drift off to dreamland. Though, with Undertaker, reality could often feel like a dream, so perfect your conscious mind almost struggled to comprehend it was real at times.

But, as he began to lean back over you, your fingers interlocked as he pressed your hands down into the comforter on either side of your head, both your legs thrown over his shoulders to have you splayed wide and vulnerable for him, just the way he liked you, one thing was for certain. Undertaker had been ahead of himself when he’d said he’d have to find a way to outdo your birthday next year. After tonight, you had no idea how things could get any better than this.

***

(Hello and thank you so much to @fanfictionsworld for your request! I hope I did it justice and thank you for being so patient with me while you waited for it. I know you’ve been following me for quite some time and I always recognize you when I see you pop up in my notifs, so it was truly a pleasure getting to write for you <3

Also want to give a big thank you to everyone else for reading as well! I hope you enjoyed and I hope you have a wonderful day!)

#kodis requests #undertaker #kuroshitsuji undertaker #undertaker black butler #black butler undertaker #undertaker x reader #black butler #black butler fanfiction #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji smut #kuroshitsuji fanfic #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x you #kuroshitsuji x y/n #black butler smut #undertaker x you #undertaker x y/n

[xfgpng]

Sebastian Michaelis

— : [nsfw] unprotected sex, slight teasing

— : kink :: sensory deprivation (blind folding)

sebastian loved your blind faith in him. he’s never had anyone or anything trust him quite like you do and it’s jarring as it is empowering.

he takes pride in knowing you’d gladly let him do as he pleases and he tends to take advantage of that but only because you’re more than okay with it. more than happy to let him take the lead sometimes.

“there’s no need to be so nervous darling” he chuckles, watching you careful as he ties the blindfold over your eyes.

the soft silk is comfortable and not too tight but it’s secured and you can’t see anything even if you tried to open your eyes underneath.

“i’m not nervous” you lie and he sees right through you but instead of teasing, he kisses you, wrapping a gloved hand around your throat to keep you in place.

his kisses are always sweet and addicting, tasting like the tea he often likes to drink.

you feel goosebumps all over your naked skin when he presses his chest against yours. he’s still dressed while you’re completely naked but it doesn’t make you feel any less aroused, as embarrassing as it might seem.

“do you remember your word love?” he asks, turning you onto your hands and knees. he admires how beautiful you look like this and he resists the urge to take a picture. that could be for a different time, when he wasn’t in such a rush to take you.

“yes” you say, “butler”

he smirks as he unties his own shirt, leaving it open instead of fully undressing. he knows you like the feeling of his pants against the back your thighs when he fucks you.

you can only rely on your hearing to figure out what he’s doing. this isn’t the first time you’ve used a blindfold but it still makes you feel shy.

you moan, biting your lip when he slaps your ass once and then twice. he couldn’t help himself when you presented yourself to him like this, a meal all for him and he was very greedy after all.

he runs his fingers up your spine and you shiver, suppressing a whine when you hear his deep chuckle right next to your ear.

he slides into you slowly, stretching you out around his cock. despite how many times you’ve done this, it burns and you bite into the pillow as he takes his time filling you up.

he knows you’d beg if you weren’t so hyper focused on everything happening around you. he can only imagine how intense everything feels.

“feels good darling?” he whispers, biting your earlobe.

you whimper, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck. it does feel good, better than you thought it would and you know he’s enjoying it as much as you are by the way he groans softly and thrusts a little faster.

he wants to savour it, the feeling of you wrapped up all around him and he knows there’s plenty of time to try this again in future but in the moment, all he can think about is you and how much you trust him and how good it feels to be inside you.

“such a good girl” he sighs, “you’re always so good for me”

you nod, kissing his jaw and any place you can reach without being able to see anything.

he easily indulges you as he speeds up his pace, kissing you hard and fucking you deeper. it’s just the way you always like it and he’s always been the one to give you everything you’ve ever wanted.

#[ 🪼 ] xfg writes #[ 🌶️ ] xfg’s thirsts #[ 😈 ] xifeng’s kinktober #sebastian michaelis #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji smut #black butler smut #sebastian michaelis smut #sebastian michaelis x you #sebestian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis x y/n #black butler sebastian #black butler sebastian smut #kuroshitsuji sebastian smut

[liar-liarpantsonfire]

Black Butler Characters reacting to their S/O calling them beautiful!

Ciel Phantomhive

He's immediately blushing and stuttering and fumbling over his words. He's not used to receiving compliments but one from you? There's no way he can play it cool and try to brush it off. He clears his throat, finally making eye contact and a small, kind of awkward "Uhm. Thank you." That is only just audible, leaves his lips.

Sebastian Michealis

He's a little taken back at first. He's awear this form and this act he puts up is extremely attractive and he's received countless compliments and praises for it but its rare someone calls him beautiful. He smiles softly and leans closer, taking you hand and placing a kiss on the corner of your lips. He leans close to your ear and whispers, "Nowhere as beautiful as yourself, dear." Before backing up again.

William T Spears

Although he's used to the constant flirting and compliments from Grell, a compliment from you? How is he supposed to be able to hide that red hue on his cheeks and the small flutter in his stomach. He stutters out a thank you before quickly taking his leave. Oh my you really do have an effect on him.

Grell Sutcliff

She does a slight double take. It's rare she receives compliments at all, much less one's that leave her feeling like this! A blush grazes her cheeks and she's only just able to keep the eye contact between the two of you. She takes your hand and plants a soft kiss on your cheek, her red lipstick leaving a small mark. She smiles and finally says, "Thank you, darling, although that sort of compliment suits you just as well."

Alois Trancy

A blush rushes to his cheeks and he looks in awe of you for a moment before clearing his throat and smiling gently. He doesn't often receive compliments and a compliment from you means the world. He leans a little closer, "Thank you hunny." He says softly, kissing your hand.

Claude Faustus

Like Sebastian, he's a little suprised at first and takes a moment to process what you said. He smiles softly, an almost rare sight, and he takes your hand kissing it softly. "Thank you, dear." You set off an instant spark of love in his heart and although you can see his beauty to him nothing would ever compare to yours.

#black butler #black butler x reader #black butler x y/n #blackbutler #x reader #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader #alois trancy #alois x reader #grell sutcliff #claude faustus #sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis #ciel x reader #ciel phantomhive #william t spears #william x reader

[irides-solstice]

ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ: ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴅᴅ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴘɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ.

‿̩͙‿✧ ༺ 🥧 ༻ ✧‿̩͙‿

Although you’d never admit it, you did love his hands. His bigger, more calloused and battle worn ones. Especially compared to yours, his seemed particularly big. Warm, smooth which radiated comfort. All it took was for Claude to place his hand on the top of your head or cheek and that’s all it would take for you to go doe-eyed and quiet. What a manipulative asshole-

This particularly came in handy when you kept getting in his way today. His eyebrows furrow, eyes narrowing as he feels his patience about to snap. Yet he willed himself to get a grip on his composure. He knew better than to yell at you. A sharp inhale as he slightly grits his teeth. How would he get this pie baked in time if you kept trailing after him around the kitchen like this? It's not like you were not aware how frustrating Alois could be to deal with if his demands were not attended to. Yet you still continue with your behaviour.

Sure the kitchen is big enough for at least four people… but not big enough for a trailing puppy like yourself to not get in his way. After the sixth time you’ve bumped into him as he turned to grab something, he simply stares down at you before picking you up and placing you on the kitchen counter. Lifting you as if you were dead weight. "Stay there, and do not move an inch," he speaks in his classic monotoned voice. An iron like grip on your jaw, his finger taps your cheek to make his point clear. Though that last part is said in a slightly more agitated way.

You huff and nod, but he's already moving away as you pout and frown in his direction. "Oh, come on Claudieee! I want to talk to you-" you finally work up the courage to blurt out only to be cut off. "Then speak your mind darling, I'm listening." He turns his head slightly and you swear that you saw a glimpse of a rare, charming smile decorating his face. But only brief before he turns back to his work. Patting your hip as he passes you to get the baking pan. You stay quiet for some time unsure, but continue on ranting stories for him to listen, and damn did he love to listen to you.

‿̩͙‿✧ ༺ 🥧 ༻ ✧‿̩͙‿

(Might write a longer fic about this in the near future, but I don't want it collecting dust in my drafts lmaoo)

#Ch: Claudiee 💝✨ #black butler #black butler s2 #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler fic #black butler x y/n #black butler headcanons #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x you #kuroshitsuji x y/n #kuroshitsuji headcanons #kuroshitsuji 2 #claude faustus #claude faustus x reader #claude faustus x you #claude faustus x y/n #claude faustus headcanons #black butler imagines #fanfiction writing #claude x reader #black butler fanfiction #Claude Faustus x reader #black butler Claude #black butler fandom #black butler scenarios #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji imagines #ᴛʜɴx ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ 💟✨

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑴𝒚 𝑳𝒂𝒅𝒚 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝟏

(𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

⚠️MDNI. 18+ ADULTS ONLY⚠️

🎀Age in bio or blocked🎀

Rating: Mature

Category: F/M

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler

Relationship: Sebastian Michaelis/CielsCousin!Reader

Characters: Sebastian Michaelis; Reader

Summary: You visit your dear cousins manor in the countryside to get a well deserved break from the humdrum exhaustion of the city after an illness. What you do not expect from your quaint retreat is the start of an exhilarating illicit affair with the butler. But taboos mean nothing when lust love transcends human norm.

Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut; Sex; Vaginal Sex; Eventual Smut; Neck Kissing; Kissing; Gentle Kissing; Surprise Kissing; Making Out; Implied Sexual Content; Phantomhive manor; Reader-Insert; Victorian

A/N: not beta read. We die like men.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1: 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔲𝔱𝔩𝔢𝔯; ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤

“My lady,” you hear a soft voice calling you, “My lady, you must wake up, it is morning.” You open your eyes. The sheets around you are soft, freshly laundered. Your head sinks into the large white pillow, and you take a deep breath that turns into a yawn and turn over to go back to a more comfortable position. But the voice rings out again. “Now, that won’t do at all...” You twist your neck toward the direction of the voice. The sound in meats your ears like the gentle beat of a raven’s wing. Shielding your eyes because of the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows, you squinted to see a dark black figure stood before the opened curtains around your bed.

Sebastian Michaelis; the imposing shadowy butler of your cousin, Ciel Phantomhive who’s estate you were staying at while you visited the countryside after your illness. This man’s efficiency left you in awe. Managing an entire household with three other servants, an old butler, and a young master who was still very much a child. His roles extended far beyond that of an ordinary butler, to that of baker, chef, driver and even a pseudo parent. Additionally, with his smooth, silky, jet-black hair and contrasting pale skin he looked rather like a vampire – one from the cheap romance novellas you would pick up from the bookstore to keep yourself entertained. You definitely wouldn’t mind him sinking his teeth into your neck. You had been inappropriately lusting after the man ever since he greeted you into the Phantomhive manor. He was gentle and helpful, and you had found yourself yearning for the feel of his hands upon your skin. Sebastian seemed to sense your longing and took it upon himself to torment you with his sly touches at every opportune moment. He took your hand to help you down stairs, tied your shoelace if he thought it wasn’t done up well enough kneeling in front of you, he even lifted you and took you to bed one night when you were feeling especially tired from the day’s activities. You had been mortified to have been treated in such a manner but when he had leaned down and kissed your ear whispering a soft goodnight you exploded on the inside. Ever since then, you had been thinking the lewdest thoughts about the man- who would often catch you staring at his back and would wink at you and laugh when you turned red. And often your fingers would slip between your thighs, to rub over your mound below in an attempt to quell the aching need.

“Your maid seems to have caught a slight cold my lady.” Sebastian speaks drawing you back to the present. He smiles. “I hope you don’t mind me standing in for her this morning. I wouldn’t want you to exert yourself so soon after having recovered from one illness.” His eyes crinkle and he tilts his head while his smile grows wider.

For a moment, you stare at him and then understand the implications of his words. Still not fully awake you muster up the energy to ask, “But, who is to help me with my dressing?”

“I’m pretty sure you will find me capable enough, my lady.” He says, still smiling. You sit up quickly. Heart pounding in your chest.

“Sebastian!” you expel in admonishment “Surely that would not be proper!”

Sebastian prowls over to the the edge of the bed and leaning down, says, “Would it be as improper as this my lady?” He plants those smooth pale lips onto yours. They burn hot against your cool pink ones. You feel his hand caressing your cheek. Your heart beats hard in your chest and you sit rigidly unable to process what is happening around you. Is Sebastian really kissing you? Are his lips truly on yours? 

But before you can fully digest what happened, he moves away. “Are you awake now my lady?” he asks. You touch your lips feeling incomplete without his warmth and nod. “Good.” He says. “I want you to be awake for this.” He smoothly takes off his black coat and lays it down on a chair, then his vest, then as he unbuttons his shirt he climbs onto the bed. “Impropriety has been a recurring thought in your mind, has it not my lady?” he says to you. He kneels down in front of you. You feel your heart beat – loud enough for the whole mansion to hear.

“Wh– whatever do you mean, Sebastian?” You feign ignorance, trying to ignore the loud pounding of your heart.

“Don’t be coy my lady.” He smirks, his body almost enveloping you on the bed and playing with the string on the neck of your nightgown. He pulls it – untying the bow that your maid had made the night before. So smooth. His movements flow like a stream of water. Almost inhuman. You look into his eyes knowing that however improper it may be, you wanted the man. You wanted him in the basest way that a human may want a human. He cups your cheek in his hand and you can’t help yourself, you move forward to feel his burning lips against your own once again. He runs his fingers through your soft hair and wraps his arm around your torso pulling you closer. You pull off his already unbuttoned shirt. The heat of his body penetrating your thin nightgown. He presses his body against yours, kissing you, a hunger in his movements like no other you knew. His fingers reach your breast and he kneads it roughly. His tongue seeks entrance at your mouth. You open up readily, moaning softly at his touch. He tastes spicy yet at the same time sweet; it reminds you of chocolate a rare taste for such a rare man. Wanton moans drip from your throat and you just want more and more. Your head feels heavy—intoxicated. 

You close your eyes and pull him closer. He’s lean, yet you can feel hard muscle under the skin. Sebastian holds the bottom of your nightgown and looks at you with heavy lidded eyes.  “Are you sure about this my lady?” For a moment you think you see them flash a dangerous red but shake it off seeing them their regular brown.

You close your eyes and nod, biting your lower lip. It is what you want. Damn all the restrictions of society. Damn it all. It was your body and here was a man who made it writhe and respond on its own accord – without your control. You wanted him to feel you, touch you, make love to you. And you knew, he would appreciate you to the fullest – you would bloom like a flower beneath his touch.

A/N: This was originally posted on AO3 back in 2017. Since then much time has passed and i wasn't feeling the motivation to continue this series, but now with this resurgence of Kuro I would like to take this series up again. I am posting it here now, with changes made and small edits. Just to make it a better read while still keeping my original story intact. I hope you've enjoyed. As always, Likes and Reblogs are much appreciated and Comments will earn you kisses.

Masterlist

#anonimusunnoan #anonimuswritings #kuroshitsuji #fanfic #sebastian x reader #sebastianmichaelis #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #Ciels cousin!reader #anti sebaciel #don't you bring that shit here. #ciel phantomhive #black butler #black butler smut #black butler season 4 #kuro2024 #kuroshitsuji sebastian #black butler imagines #kuroshitsuji imagines #sebastian michaelis imagines #kuroshitsuji x reader #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n