Hello! I Was Wondering If You Could Write A Headcanon Of Undertaker Seeing S/o Past Self-Harm Scars?

Hello! I was wondering if you could write a Headcanon of Undertaker seeing S/o past Self-Harm scars? Please and thank you!

Of course! I believe you said fluff prompts 1 & 14 before so I included those too. I hope this is what you were looking for. Also I got a tad carried away and did a story instead of headcanons, hope you don’t mind!

❗️Warnings; Obviously self harm, please don’t read if this upsets you at all. Quite angsty all the way through as well, but hurt/comfort too. ❗️

Masterlist

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You could feel the nausea climbing up the back of your throat as you sat on one end of Undertaker’s old, comfortable sofa, pressed against the arm as if you were trying to disappear into it. You hardly even realised you were ringing your hands so viciously that your knuckles were turning white and your fingertips red, but even when you noticed, you found you couldn’t stop. You needed to tell him. It was an old part of your life by now but a part nonetheless, something he needed to know. You trusted him with it, knew he wouldn’t share such a private part of your life with another living soul, but that didn’t mean you wanted to have this conversation.

It had been a long time coming and you were tired of feeling like you were hiding something from him, though your mind tried to tell you it wasn’t hiding if he didn’t know to begin with. You couldn’t bring yourself to believe it. You took quiet calming breaths, waiting for your partner to finish the tea he was making in the kitchen and bring it inside. He would place the cups down on the weathered oak coffee table in front of you, sit down on the small sofa with enough room between you that you didn’t feel pressured or uncomfortable. Undertaker would lift up an arm with a quirky grin, and if you felt tat you wanted to cuddle with him, you would. If not, you tended to just glance away with an apology on your lips, only for the reaper to make a joke out of it before you had the chance to say sorry, drawing a laugh from your lips in spite of yourself.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts and attempts to remain calm that you didn’t notice the man in question come in, nor did you see the sad look clouding his eyes that he kept hidden behind his bangs. He knew what your behaviour meant; he’d seen it in too many people to many times before. Too often in himself.

“Are you alright?”

Your whole body flinched at the gentle words, hands clenching together in your lap as you tried to act like you weren’t tense all over. The mortician’s voice lacked its usual, slightly maniacal qualities, instead it was lower and serious, far more calming than normal. You tried to open your mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out. You could neither pretend you were alright or admit the truth, that you weren’t, and you stayed still for so long that Undertaker put the tea down anyway. It was the subtle shift of the sofa beneath you when he sat down that finally snapped you out of it and you turned quickly towards him, searching his wall of hair for where you thought his eyes were.

“Please just hold me,” you murmured, and Undertaker wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you towards him, cradling you against his chest. He let out a quiet sigh at how badly you were shaking against him, fingertips digging into his shoulders but he couldn’t care less.

“Why are you trembling?” He asked in reply, voice unimaginably soft. His hands ran soothing patterns up and down your back as you prepared yourself for what you were going to say, but the well-practiced words were nowhere to be found in your mind. You gave a sigh of your own before deciding to just show him. You leaned back a fraction and grabbed a portion of your long sleeve and pulled it back to your elbow, turning you unsteady wrist over to reveal silvery rows of straight scars marring your skin, reaching up your forearm. You hadn’t shown them to anyone else. The reaper’s ribs expanded quickly beneath you as he took in a sharp breath, close enough to be able to see your arm clearly even with his terrible eyesight.

“Oh sweetheart,” he muttered, arms constricting around you almost immediately as he left a kiss on top of your head, lingering there a moment as you hid the marks away again, then tucked your head down so you didn’t have to look at him. They were long healed over, but it was obvious how deeply everything was still affecting you, the state you must of been in at the time. He knew how that felt, and a familiar hollow feeling welled up in his chest at the thought that you’d had to experience it too.

“Thank you,” he whispered after a long time of silence, lips stirring your hair just a little, “for trusting me. For being brave enough to show me. I know how difficult it is to take that step love, but you did it. And I’m so proud of you.”

You couldn’t stop the tears starting to line your eyes at his heartfelt words and as the first supressed sob escaped your lips, he pulled you impossibly closer. Neither of you kept track of how long you stayed there, but at the end of it, you couldn’t help but feel just a little lighter within yourself. There was no quick cure for this and you knew it all too well, but you also knew you’d taken this first step, and that there was a road to recovery that you would be able to follow, Undertaker beside you all the way.

my blog would be lost if i do not repost this

o((>ω< ))o

vanitas ☆ vampire doctor

Hi! I love your blog and am delighted to read things about Kuroshitsuji; I love this story so much!! So... can I have some scenarios or headcanons (your choice) with Undertaker, Grell and Sebastian and their female s/o who have a weak point in touching their hair/head and giving them cute hairstyles? I think it's very cute and precious :( Thank you and please!! Take care of yourself <3 Love you.

Aww thank you so much! Such a nice idea, of course you can! Enjoy!

Masterlist

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Undertaker

When Undertaker first discovered that touching your head and hair was your weak point, he was absolutely delighted. You were curled up on his sofa together, watching an old film that you had already seen several times together, the dialogue playing quietly in the background. You were laying quietly on the mortician, your weight across his chest and head rising and falling with each steady breath he took. He kept looking down at you with a content smile on his face, though you were too invested in the film to realise. In fact, he was watching you more than he was watching the television, but he didn’t think that was a bad thing.

When he finally returned his eyes to the screen to watch a part that he particularly enjoyed, the reaper’s hand made its way o your head of its own accord. You blinked as you felt gentle fingertips against your temple, then took in a short, stuttering breath as they trailed backwards across your scalp. Undertaker was on it in a second, though you tried to carry on watching the movie and pretending as if nothing had happened. A slightly wicked grin on his face, your partner repeated the movement, only this time he ran his long nails too lightly over your skin and he couldn’t but laugh as your body tensed up and one hand gripped his arm.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry,” he got out past his laughter. The next time he ran his nails over your head, it was with a proper amount of pressure and you practically melted into his chest. He looked on as he kept repeating the movement, fingers splayed wide enough to touch almost your whole head and watching as your eyes began to flutter closed, quiet hums emitting from your lips with each caress. You leaned more of your weight against him as you relaxed further and further, and he could have sworn you were falling asleep.

“Please don’t stop,” you muttered out, burying your face into his shoulder and feeling more than hearing his chuckle as it vibrated in his chest.

“Don’t worry, love,” he said softly, “I won’t.”

Grell Sutcliff

It was automatic for Grell’s fingertips to find your hair during any quite moment together. It was something she always did subconsciously, just enjoying how soft it felt and how wonderful it smelled where you were curled up with her in bed. The first time she did it, she only touched the tips of your hair and you hardly noticed it, but you smiled warmly and pressed closer into your partner. She returned the smile, grip tightening around you and pulling you impossibly closer to her. Your head rested on her shoulder and she leaned down to give you a sweet kiss before settling back against the pillows once more, you doing the same.

The second time she touched your hair, she ran her fingertips straight through the roots and subsequently along your scalp, immediately taking note when you all but collapsed into her, eyes closed and something of a dreamy expression on your face. The reaper started smiling, did it again just to make sure you gave the same reaction, then removed her hand entirely. She watched with humour dancing in her eyes as you slowly opened yours, blinking a few times as if trying to reorient yourself then looking up at her tiredly.

“Why did you stop?” You murmured, watching her smile widen to a grin.

“I see how it is,” she proclaimed loudly, with a touch of the usual dramatic flair, “you knew that having your head touched was a weak spot and you didn’t tell me.” You tried to say her name, but she just interrupted you. “Absolutely not, I’m having none of that. You just sit there and wait for me to get back.”

In all of a few moments, Grell was sitting behind you with you leaning back against her chest while she carefully ran a brush through your hair, methodically separating strands and crossing them over to give you an incredibly intricate braid, one which you made her take several pictures of and refused to take out until it was literally falling apart and you had no choice.

Sebastian Micaelis

Sebastian had already found that he couldn’t resist the temptation of wanting to run his hands through your hair. It always looked so soft and shone gloriously in the sunlight when you were outside together, he just had to see if it felt as wonderful as it looked. The first time he reached over to touch your hair, his movements were impossibly slow. You were curled up together watching something fairly unimportant on the television, your head tucked into the crook of Sebastian’s neck and your hair falling over his shoulder.

You were hardly aware the demon was even doing anything at first, with how gentle he was being. His fingertips just grazed the hairs on top of your head, the smaller fluffy ones that weren’t close enough to your scalp for you to realise what he was doing. He lingered there a moment, you totally blind that his had was hovering above your head at all. When you didn’t react and when he could no longer stop himself, Sebastian gently pressed his fingertips into your tresses, causing only a slight movement of your roots but it was enough for you to look up at him with questioning eyes. The smile he gave you was as if to say, what? I can’t help it, and he kept eye contact with you, still not saying anything, as he pressed his fingers against your head properly and ever so slowly dragged them back along your scalp.

Your partner was utterly delighted when you let out a small sound, eyes closing immediately and your head dropping back down against his shoulder. His touch sent shivers through you, ones that he sensed to, but in such a way that you could have fallen asleep right there. Your eyes opened again at an unexpected loss of contact, but you sighed happily with a serene smile on your face when you realised he was only moving his hand back to the front of your head so he could repeat the motion. You didn’t know if you sat there for minutes or hours, half asleep and in such a dazed, happy state as you were.

From then on, Sebastian’s hands were always finding their way to your hair and head. He would play with it as you sat together, like on that first day, he would gently stroke your head as you drifted off to sleep, laying snugly against his broad chest. He even realised, much to your dismay, that it was an excellent way to distract you from just about everything.

damn it-!

i wanna kiss him so bad(>_<!)

just look at him smiling while in deep thought.

this guy is the end of all tsunderes, i'm telling you!

yes!!!!

reach out to me my devilish sweetheart!

imma smooch your lil face sebby~

Heyo! Could you do headcannons for how undertaker would react to Othello having a crush on his s/o? You could even do a story too if you would like! I’m here for the undertaker being jealous!

Thank you 💚

“Wow! She’s a keeper.” The dark-haired man marveled and gestured to the young woman as he spoke.

Undertaker shrugged. He ignored the nagging pang of irritation that washed over him. Certainly Othello didn’t think he’d have a chance with her, did he? It wasn’t as if Y/n had shown interest in the geeky man anyway.

Holding his composure, he breathed, “A keeper, she is. A woman of many interests, she is not.”

Othello shook himself from his starry gaze, his brows furrowed together. He cocked his head to Undertaker, “So she’s boring?”

Undertaker sighed at Othello’s confusion and incapacity to read between the lines. Perhaps he could stop Othello cold in his tracks with a little harsh reality, a little embarrassment to set him straight.

“Why don’t you go talk to her? See if you’re worth her while,” Undertaker snorted, tapping his half sipped wine glass in amusement. He was in dire need of a good laugh—the clients who stopped into his shop recently were dry and lacked imagination—so he took this as a grand opportunity.

Othello put his finger to his chin thoughtfully, “Well, that would be nice…”

“Oh, yes,” Undertaker squinted with a toothy grin. “My lady would enjoy a nice chit chat.”

A coy smile grew on Othello’s lips as Undertaker encouraged him forward, a light push on his back. He bit his tongue to keep from making a snide remark about the man’s difficulty to thrive in social settings. Though he was very well acquainted with Othello, the pair never were friends which made the situation far more hilarious for Undertaker—well that’s what he believed at first. He took a long swig of white wine and watched as Othello approached her.

“Hi Y/n.”

With a slight sway of her hips, Y/n spun on her heels at the sound of the familiar voice. She smiled warmly at the scientist and prompted him to continue with a nod.

“Couldn’t help but notice how radiant you look in that gown,” Othello flirted, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose carefully. “I-I just had to tell you.”

Y/n’s eyes widened at Othello’s bold words and she wondered where he’d gotten this new surge of confidence from. Fascinated, she thought back on all the times he had been too shy to speak to her, so the compliments he gave confirmed his crush.

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard yet,” she gushed, amused at his cute attempt to hit on her. Her eyes drifted over his face, examining his expression. Othello seemed satisfied with himself, but still uncomfortable at the moment. He’d been nothing but kind to Y/n, so she decided he needed a little something to keep him on his toes.

“Come here,” she motioned with a grin and hugged him gleefully. In disbelief, Othello’s jaw dropped and she couldn’t help herself from giggling at his reaction.

If it wasn’t obvious already, the circumstances surrounding this situation could’ve been completely avoided. Despite causing a great deal, Undertaker’s skin boiled, watching the interaction between the two, especially since nothing went as planned. The guts his lady had to unashamedly wrap her arms around another man in front of everyone—in front of him, made his jaw tick. He was pissed to say the least. In a split second, he was behind them ready to separate the two.

“Off. Now,” he snapped, wrapping an open arm around Y/n once Othello backed away.

“Just because we’re well acquainted doesn’t mean you’re exempt from my wrath,” Undertaker frowned angrily, towering over him.

Suddenly, Undertaker pulled Y/n against his chest and steered her to a private area, along the back wall of the ballroom.

Undertaker exhaled, speaking through gritted teeth. “We’re going home.”

“Why?” Y/n frowned and pushed at his shoulder. “I’m enjoying the party.”

“Heh, I can see that.”

“Oh, come on!” She huffed rolling her eyes, “I thought I could do something for the kid—”

“Man,” Undertaker interjected.

Y/n groaned, “—something for the ‘man’ that would cheer him up. You seriously don’t believe I fancy Othello, do you? You are my only priority.”

“Don’t act naive, poppet. You know how I feel about these types of things…” Undertaker lowered his voice, “How disappointed I am when I have to remind you of which who you belong.”

The silver hair that always fell in front of his face, parted at one eye as he tilted his head back with a disapproving glare. He cut his eyes at Othello who was in his own world, still somewhat enjoying the party around him. Undertaker pointed discreetly at the man, though Y/n could only concentrate on the glimmering ring that adorned his bony finger.

Y/n stammered, “U-Undy, it’s really not that seri—”

Bending down slightly, he nudged at Y/n’s ear, “I happen to be possessive of what is mine.”

He kissed along her collarbone. “Don’t ever touch him like that again, little one… Next time I won’t be so understanding.”

— bugs

A/n: I haven’t read much of the manga but hopefully I did Othello justice lol.