Ugh … Vincent spanking Ciel, much to the latter’s humiliation and the former’s mirth. It’s such an amusement and turn on in its own right to see the way Ciel squirms across his lap in a piteous attempt to escape, yet in the same vein, arches back in an attempt to receive more. Bonus points if to add to his humiliation Vincent makes him strip down to naught but his socks (or stockings …. ciel wearing stockings never hurt anyone.)
Hm. And what if it happened while Sebastian was eagerly observing … hm ….
“Lie over my knee.” He instructed.
A lapful of warm, squirming little boy followed soon after. He could feel the sharpness of the boy’s ribcage digging into his kneecaps as he wriggled to get comfortable. Felt the gusty exhale, a dip of the thin belly against his thighs, once he was settled and the realisation that he was going to be spanked in front of his daddy’s best friend sunk in.
Spanking his little boy felt like something close to ecstasy. A whirling high. A white-out of his senses. Fever-pitched. Addictive.
Having his best friend watch as he punished his kid only heightened the euphoria. And Vincent rather thought he might be in too deep. A swift descent into depravity. No return ticket. Sulphur-scent. Hell-bound.
If it’s not too much trouble and you’d like to, could you give us some headcanons you have based on your concept that Sebastian the dog WAS Sebastian (the butler/demon)? I love that HC sm
Thank you so much for the ask! 💖
Yes, I love this HC so much too. X3
*Sebastian took the form of a dog at Vincent’s request.
*Not only because Vincent seems to have a penchant for deeming those in his service as “dogs” (poor Diedrich), but because it is unassuming to have a dog by his side, and most wouldn’t think twice about it, especially if he needs to go into protection mode. It was not uncommon for nobility to have large “manstopper breeds” for their estates, such as mastiffs. But I feel like his Borzoi (sighthound) shape was an aesthetic choice to maintain elegance and swiftness.
*Sebastian would have been given the option to shapeshift if necessary as well, especially if it were to protect the twins, which I think would have been one of the tenets of his and Vincent’s contract. But he was careful to never let the twins or anyone else except his contractee to see him change.
*I believe Undertaker would have been the only one to see through the ruse, and because of this, Sebastian did not like him from the start. Undertaker was little too handsy with Vincent and if Sebastian is anything, it is possessive.
*Sebastian was not “picking” on our Ciel when he was a child, but protecting him. When he leaned out the window to watch his brother and Elizabeth play outside, Sebastian was trying to discourage him from leaning out too far, which was dangerous. When the manor was under attack, Sebastian tried to prevent the boy from running across the bodies that would have frightened him. At his age, though, he wouldn’t have understood that he was doing what he was doing for the boy's benefit.
*I believe before Vincent died, Sebastian adhered to one final request or order- to ensure the boys would live long enough for an heir to be secured. He collected Vincent’s soul and then allowed his current body to die when he realized they would be taken alive.
Seb trying to pick Vincent up while the latter immediately retaliates and pushes away and becomes all offended like a prickly cat
Firstly THANK YOU SO MUCH for this ask, I adore it so damn much!! ⋆˙⟡♡ I hope you enjoy what I managed to write for it, lovely <3
Vincent needed a moment alone. A reprieve from the blaring television – some action movie Ciel was half-heartedly watching while he scrolled his phone – and the nettling, caustic churning of his thoughts.
Work obligations – because life didn’t stop when shit hit the fan – and the washing machine was making a concerning noise as of late, and he had the gardeners coming Monday. Most of all, the corrosive, grating, aching crux of his brewing headache tonight was the Abernathy case; paperwork and court dates and trying to understand the jargon of his attorney.
It was an abso-fucking-lute shitshow. A maelstrom of appointments at the courthouse, visits to his home, too, of recounting – over and bloody over again – the series of events that landed him in the messy aftermath. Of reliving seeing his little boy hurt and humiliated at the hands of the malevolent, fucking iniquitous aristocrats.
How was it that he felt even more helpless now. Weeks later, breathing in the dust of the wreckage. Then he did when bound to the hard-wood chair and watching his kid be defiled upon the thin mattress; stained with ejaculate and spit. A debauched small thing. Wet-eyed and wanting his daddy to save him and Vincent couldn’t.
And yet, now, eight in the evening on an innocuous Friday, no danger, no chair or mattress, no empty room to be held hostage in, or little boy to witness being tormented by cruel hands…and he was fucking wrecked. His thoughts tangled in knots inside the confines of his skull. A Gordian knot of sorts.
It felt that way.
So, Vincent needed a moment. A breath, a proper breath that reached into the very bottom of his lungs and cleared away the unrestful chaos inside of his brain. If he could rip the grey matter from his head to gain an insensate oblivion from it all, he would.
That was entirely impossible, of course. So, he settled on retreating to the kitchen and standing idle at the bench a moment, debating whether a glass of merlot would help his predicament or worsen it.
He settled on coffee, black. A burr of the machine, the steady drip of dark liquid, the violent sounds of some explosive fight scene from the living room, then the abrupt feeling of hands at his hips.
Not Ciel’s. Much too large and firm and –
“Oi!” he jerked himself away from the touch. Because bergamot and spice and leather was filling his nose, thick and heady and obvious to who was accosting him. “Don’t.” he warned, not turning to give the man his attention, though he said, “I’m not in the mood.”
“When are you?” smooth voice, somewhat displeased.
“Did you creep in the backdoor?” he hadn’t heard the front door open. And Ciel was not suctioned to the man’s side when Vincent deigned to turn and face him, so he’d definitely come in the back way.
A shrug of one shoulder, leather-clad. Sebastian’s hair was sweep back off his forehead, wind-swept from the blustery night outside. “I was in the area.” He said.
“Fancied scaling my back fence, did you?”
“It’s a bit of exercise.”
“Seriously, you didn’t climb it did you?”
A furrow of Sebastian’s dark brow. He didn’t have to say, “Obviously not.” His expression said it all; you think me such the ruffian?Then, “Trouble in paradise?”
He was ever the perceptive prat. Though, Vincent supposed he was probably telegraphing his turmoil rather plainly. What with the fact he was dressed in an old pair of joggers – he’d had to crawl into the very back of his wardrobe to find them – and a loose-fitting t-shirt. Entirely not his usual attire.
His shirt and tie had felt too restricting. Stifling. The knot at his throat too tight, too choking. His ironed slacks and polished shoes too restraining. He didn’t feel put together in the slightest, so wearing his usual get-up felt like wearing someone else’s skin. Ill-fitting. Inherently awry.
“Paradise?” he settled on saying, a quirk of one eyebrow as he hooked his cup of coffee by the handle. A waft of bitter steam. It was probably too late to be drinking it. It would only keep his thoughts spinning well into the night. He took a sip regardless; scalding and perfect. “Have you succumbed to serve early onset dementia?”
“I remember,” low-voiced. Vincent wasn’t certain if it was his imagination that conjured up the shrouding shadows within the man’s gaze as he said it. Or if he was simply putting his own disquiet on Sebastian. “I was referring to the little darling in the living room.”
“Ciel’s fine,” he said, a knee-jerk response. He still wasn’t entirely certain how to navigate the simmering – festering was more apt, actually – thing between the three of them. It was unnerving as much as intriguing. “We’re fine.”
“Then what is it?”
“Everything. The atrocious lot of it!”
“See,” a sigh as Sebastian settled in beside Vincent, the small of his back resting up against the edge of the counter, his shoulder and bicep so close to Vincent’s that Vincent could feel the man’s body heat. He took another sip of his coffee, burning off a good few tastebuds in the process, a bitter heat down the length of his throat. “This is why I smoke. Good stress reliver. That and fucking cute boys.”
If Sebastian had been facing him, Vincent was convinced he would have winked at the last part. And it would have looked anything but cheesy. Tsk. The casual elegance, the casual appeal the man held was aggravating at times. And enthralling.
“Oh, I know all about your vices.” He muttered. It was not – much to his dismay – unkindly said. And when had that happened? When had he come to find Sebastian’s uncouth coping mechanisms, if not charming, then at least palatable?
He didn’t want to unpack it.
Not when his head was throbbing with the insistency of a full-bloomed headache. Tender behind his eyes.
“You know what you need?”
It felt like a trick question. Vincent couldn’t summon up caution in the face of it, so he glanced sideways at his best friend – handsome side-profile, straight nose and long, dark lashes, and a particularly scheming set to his features – and asked, “What do I need?”
“Spontaneity.”
“Spontaneity?”
“Mm,” noncommittal, then, “put down your coffee.”
“Why?” sharp-voiced, a bite of the word from between his teeth.
He saw the press of Sebastian’s fine mouth. A frown. A glance over at Vincent; garnet gaze holding something jagged and warm within it. “Lower your hackles and your coffee.”
“Don’t order me.”
“Shall I say please?”
Vincent huffed, but he placed down his coffee cup with a showy thunk against the marble countertop, turning to face Sebastian, a are you happy now at the back of his tongue ready to be expelled.
Before he could say the words, Sebastian was reaching out, a swift thing, and grabbing him by the loose fabric of his t-shirt, tugging him forward.
“What are you doing –?” the glimmer of something cheeky within Sebastian’s eyes as he gripped Vincent by the waist with both hands, a flex of his fingertips that Vincent felt just under his ribcage. Holding him very firmly. “Let me go.”
“Where’s the spontaneity in that?”
“I mean it. You can pull this shit with Ciel, just leave me out of – hey! – Michaelis!” fuck, but Sebastian had dipped his shoulder, a pre-emptive thing right before he’d bent down far enough to haul Vincent up and over his lowered shoulder, the hands at Vincent’s waist pulling him up and, “Shit! Put me down!”
The room was spinning, a whirl of white and grey. Sebastian’s arm hooked around his middle, his other hand steadying Vincent’s hip as he fucking twirled in the middle of the large kitchen with Vincent a captive thing thrown like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” his voice came out somewhat constricted from the way his stomach was pressed up against the sturdiness of Sebastian’s shoulder, and in part due to the vehemency in which he was being spun in dizzying circles. A flurry of his hair in his eyes.
“Being spontaneous.” Came the simple reply. No sign of strain from the man at hauling Vincent’s grown-ass around in pirouetting circles. “Is it helping?”
“I think I’m going to vomit. Put me down!” he’d kick a cabinet or smack his head on one if Sebastian wasn’t careful.
“Say please.”
“Fuck you!”
A swift stop. Vincent’s head struggled to find stability, careening in wishy-washy circles like a spinning top. He had been joking about vomiting before, now, with the room still but his head decidedly not, he felt the queasiness roiling within his stomach.
Sebastian didn’t give him a chance to find his bearings before he promptly took off, striding from the kitchen and into the living room where the television was bright orange with some inferno or explosion, loud and deafening – and really, how high did his kid have to have the volume when he was giving his phone the majority of his attention anyway? – and, said kid looked up from his sprawl on the couch as his father was carted – draped and red-faced and glowering – past the television.
“When’d you come over?” he wanted to know of Sebastian, sitting up abruptly, tugging his t-shirt straight with a little self-conscious glance down at himself. It wasn’t; why are you accosting my dad like that? Just a boyish display of eagerness and a pinking of his cheeks. Even in the dimness of the living room – the lambent orange glow gone from the television now, replaced with a murky aftermath of charr and darkness – Vincent could see the warmth to his boy’s face. Elated Sebastian was here.
“Put me down.” Vincent said, steadying himself with handfuls of the supple leather jacket at Sebastian’s back. Craning his neck awkwardly so he wasn’t simply hanging down the man’s back like some boneless creature.
At the same time Sebastian said, soft and honied, and not to Vincent, but Vincent’s kid, “Just now. You texted me after all.”
A bitten back smile from the boy. Shy and very pleased. “You didn’t reply, I thought you might’ve been busy.”
“Never too busy for you, darling.”
“That’s enough.” Of the godforsaken obvious flirting between his best friend and kid and of Vincent embodying a backpack, too. “Put me down.”
“I already told you my stipulation.”
“I’m warning you.”
“I could let you go over my shoulder. So, unless you fancy faceplanting the ground with that pretty face of yours, I suggest you behave.”
“Behave?” he loathed the way his voice rose an octave, a squalling thing – and oh, so that’s where his kid got it from. Him – but with his stomach crushed by Sebastian’s shoulder and the blood pooling into his head, a throb of his headache, a clench of his hands in the leather, he had little choice but to comply after his show of outrage. “Put me the fuck down, Michaelis.” A swallow, a small bit of ire at himself for the next bit, “Please.”
“Wasn’t so hard, was it? Didn’t reduce you to some subby bottom-boy.”
Vincent would have shoved the fucker had he of been on the ground again for that bit of derisiveness. He was still held captive, a stiff thing, until Sebastian crossed to the couch and threw him down next to Ciel. A brusque descent.
Vincent was left ruffled and furious, staring up at the man – backlit by the television; some cinematic flashback scene playing out behind the dark-leather shoulders; a roar of flames, like a snapshot of hell – and scowling foully all the while.
“Feel better?” Sebastian wanted to know, a tilt of his chin. His patented expression. Amused and sinuous in equal measure. Wholly attractive, too. Tsk.
“I feel violated more like it.”
Though, as he listened to his kid prattle on about school drama to Sebastian – as if the man had any interest in the woes of eighth-graders, though he listened politely – he had to admit, even just quietly to himself, that the impulsive shoulder-ride, the dizzying spinning, had knocked loose his whirling thoughts. Emptied his head of the niggling stress. If only for the interim.
Perhaps Sebastian was onto something. Vincent was ever the regimented man, veering away from his usual routine – even his mental routine – was not something he often did.
Not that he wanted to be carted around on Sebastian’s shoulder in the future. But, perhaps changing up his routine and taking a mental break at times was warranted.
• Ren. Some may say unsurprisingly Ren. ☜╮(´ิ∀´ิ☜╮)
• wincest shipper! Sebaciel. Hannigram. I mean, the list could go on!
• coffee lover ☕️ caffeine is a necessary requirement to function at this point. The stronger, the better.
• writing keeps the insanity at bay 😮💨
• used to be here before but life pulled the rug out from under me and I went MIA to cry for a bit. But I’m back! So if I had been following you before, interact so I can re-follow!! ❤️
• ao3: UnsurprisinglyRen (mostly explicit content for both Supernatural and Black Butler 🤌🏻)
Feel free to send asks or message me directly, I don’t bite 💖
You’re being held at gun point choose between Sebastian and Vincent. Only one of them. No work around or take backs.
⤷ anon be like.
But....if I had to choose, no take backsies....probably....(prefacing this with a hearty: CURRENTLY) Vincent. However, depending on what I'm writing it changes. But I'm locking in Vincent for my current fav ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ )
Vincent and Sebastian playing billiards with lots of sexual tension
FERAL AND RABID FOR THIS. OMGGGG. I will be writing something for this when I can the chance because oof, yes please, gimme the tension, make it THICK AND SENSUAL... ᝰ🚬
Sorry Ren :( this is ooc and kinda cheesy and not tasteful but … like … consider the scenario of Sebastian putting on a record (assuming Vincent owns a record player and records) and cajoling Vincent into dancing with him.
I love Vinbastian/Sebavince so much …
Omg I’m SWOONING!!! Catch me anon!!! 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜
I adore this so damn much!! Like I can picture it happening, most likely after a few drinks. A quiet evening. A moment of calm in the dimly lit living room. Vincent just a touch off-balance from the merlot he’s been drinking. Sebastian smelling of high end cigarettes.
They both feel a little foolish doing it. But there’s something relaxing in the slow movements. Something grounding in the hand Sebastian has at the cinch of Vincent’s waist. Something so simple about swaying to the melody 🎶
