#vine writes

[vinewrites]

urbain smutty thought turned drabble || urbain x reader

Little thought turned drabble as I work on a Urbain fic for yall. spreading my pathetic, desperate urge to please urbain agenda

// NOT PROOF READ, NO LEGENDS ZA SPOILERS, MINORS don’t INTERACT. urbain going down on you, gender neutral, pathetic urbain, slight overstim at the end!

Imagine Urbain as a pathetic service top. It fits him so well, no? He’s always putting others before himself, focusing on caring and helping other people. How would that be any different for his partner? No, it’s even worse. There’s a deep desire that festers in his stomach every time you give him a look with half lidded eyes or whisper sultry words in his ears. He’s desperate to please you, to take care of you in a way no one’s has ever done so before. He wants to make you feel so good that it’s the only thing he thinks about. It is so utterly pathetic that you wonder how he makes such a good team leader.

Days he can’t sleep, he’ll lean over, kissing down your neck. You don’t even have to meet his gaze to know what he wants. Between the kisses against your skin, he’s practically begging to go down on you. You meet his gaze and god he wants you so bad— you can see it in his glossy eyes and flushed cheeks. How could you deny your pretty boyfriend such a pleasure? He looks like an excited puppy when you nod.

He doesn’t even waste a second, fingers eagerly taking off your bottoms. Before you can even blink, he’s right between your legs, forcing them open for him. He stares up at you, looking almost thankful for you before he wraps his lips around your sex. He’s learned so well over the time you two have been together! He has you completely figured out, and knows exactly how to move his tongue to make you squirm and writhe.

He loves how you react to him too, it’s confirmation he’s doing his job well. Every sweet moan that leaves your lips, every sputtered gasp, and even when you reach down to his hair, yanking him closer to your sex. . . It makes him so much needy for you. Especially when you moan out his name. God he can feel his cock twitch every time you do so.

His moans are muffled against you, and almost louder than you. His grip against your thighs become tighter, his movements faster and more desperate like he’s the one being pleasured. He’s gone lightheaded from the fact he can’t breathe properly, but god he does not care! The only thing he can focus on is you, only you. Especially when you’re squealing that you’re so close, and that he’s such a good boy for you.

When you finally do cum on his face, he does not stop at all! He gives it his all, through the ache in his jaw, and doesn’t stop pleasing you until you’ve completely ridden out your orgasm. . . Until pleasure turns into pain, and you start hissing out. Finally he can move his head back, gasping for the air he didn’t realize he was missing. He is staring up at you through your legs, and the sight is nothing less than heavenly. He’s panting softly with bright red cheeks, and his lips are glossy and wet from your cum. You feel your stomach churn as you watch him lick his lips, bringing his fingers to wipe away his saliva. He looked like an angel.

The usually would have moved in to kiss you, check in on how he had done. Oh, but Urbain was not done with you yet. He plants almost swollen lips against your inner thighs, his hot breath hitting against your skin. Desperate to hear more of you, desperate to have you cum for him again, he’s staring up at you with glossy eyes.

“Please, please. . .” he’s mumbling against your thighs, pressing down light kisses. “Just one more, mon coeur. . . I need to hear you moan for me again,” his kisses turn into light bites, running his tongue over each bite mark to soothe the sweet stings. “You can cum for me one more time, right lovely?” There he goes, practically begging again. Though there’s more than desperation that glimmer in his eyes. There is a need. A need to make you your nerves so shot, that the only thing you can moan and gasp is his name. Urbain.

Oh how could you say no to such a face? You can already feel the arousal pool back to your stomach. You can only hope that the walls are thick enough to shield all noises you have, and will, be making tonight.

[sunshine-vine]

Someone has probably said this already but janka with zanka getting addicted to fighting with jabber because of the neurotoxins

Tweakin’

Fandom: Gachiakuta 

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Jabber x Zanka

CW: Addiction, Drug Use, Manipulation 

MDNI

There's nowhere to knock at the Raider hideout. Just a wide, swooping archway with ominous vibes. 

Which is fine by Zanka. Breaking in means less than nothing. He's already stooped so much lower. For Jabber. Always for Jabber. 

He taps his choker. 

“Come out and fight me, ya coward.”

Case in point: Zanka puts bite into the words, for him. 

Jabber answers in a lazy drawl at the tail end of a dream. 

“That's no way to talk to ya plug, Za-Za~.”

“Yer NOT my…”

Shit. Calm down.

“...my PLUG!”

The itch around his neck says different.

“Yer… yer my…”

Shit. He knows who Jabber is, intimately – has his blood and poison in his veins, his voice inside his mind – but not what Jabber means to him. Are they… Rivals? Enemies? Friends? Something more? 

It's hard to form cohesive thoughts when he withdraws. 

“Ooh, I'm ya chemical lover, huh Za-Za~? How romantic~.”

There's a “fuck you” at the tip of Zanka's tongue. Reflexive. Ready. 

He pauses, mouth too dry to form the words. 

An ancient bed squeaks at the end of the choker line. A leisurely, groaning stretch, no doubt revealing a single patch of hair trailing under Jabber's waistband. 

Zanka's fists clench, unclench. It's not only the neurotoxins he's addicted to. 

Jabber chuckles sharply, pointed for a disabling blow:

“Ya know I looove fightin' you too, bae. Come on in. Third hall on the  right.”

“Why? So you can jump me?”

A pause. Offended, or annoyed?

“Nahhh, I wouldn't slut ya out like that~.”

Amused. Of course.

Against the survival instincts he used to have – ones that evaporated along with benign concepts such as “dignity” and “basic common sense” – Zanka approaches the entrance. 

He doesn't bother looking around, nor trying to predict where the first (last) strike will land. 

A Jabber-esque entrance could mean dropping from the ceiling, posed like the vindictive, venomous creation he is. Melting up from the floor, one with the shadows. Appearing miraculously behind him – flash-speed has its advantages – or walking him down with casual, Old-West-duel surety. (Jabber would be the sharpshooting outlaw in that scenario, with Zanka akin to a startled horse.)

Not today. 

“Easyyy does it, Za-Za. Theeere ya go~.”

Jabber's voice is at his ear – just as deadly, just as toxic. A higher high. Mankira's point slides into the soft skin of his throat. It feels like coming home. 

“Ya can't just…” Zanka's shaky hands mellow. His muscles relax. “...poke me… without… without a figh–” 

“Shh… just a sample, bae. A lil cure to feed ya fix.” 

A hush so gentle, an embrace so warm Zanka ignores the inherent cruelty of the move. 

“We gon’ fight. Soon as I get my boy right. Now just…” A pool of purple, candy, music floods Zanka's veins. He melts against Jabber, finding heaven in the neon pink glow. “Relaaax. I gotcha, baby. Lean on me.”

[vinesandvellichor]

DPS Gift Exchange!

Happiest of Holidays @bumblee27 and all good tidings for the solstice! Here is your gift, an autumnal Anderperry one shot with a focus on the Poets friendship. I hope you like it!

Thank you to the wonderful @dps-gift-exchanges for hosting.

Plus a cheeky link to the song that inspired both the vibes and the title:

[writer-who-reads]

Pretty pretty please I'm begging for ANYTHING involving Octavian as long as it isn't some half assed "eww I hate this guy let's torture him" kinda deal. You can rip and tear him from the inside out, just don't do it for no reason at all.

This took me a bit to write (sorry for answering this so late), but I sort of did like a summary of HoO entirely in Octavian's point of view. Because 1. I need to practice writing genuinely bad characters (bad as in "evil", not bad) and 2. He's already dead, why bring him back to life when I can just explore his life.

Tw: mentions of death.

I tried my best :)

The Augur - Written by Vine

From the moment Octavian laid eyes on Jason Grace, he did not like the boy. Sure, he was the son of Jupiter. Sure, he had climbed up the ranks admittedly quickly, and isn't that what Romans are meant to do? To have power?

But Octavian was far from stupid. To others, Jason Grace was powerful, untouchable, respected and liked. But to him?

Well, Octavian knew trouble when he sees it. The newly-ranked praetor hid it well, but it was obvious that he did not like the rules carved in stone. It was clear Octavian would have made a much better leader than that Jason Grace.

But Reyna would never listen to him. Perhaps she had liked Jason. Octavian never cared to notice such things. Relationships were trivial, and power was much more important.

When Hazel Levesque came to camp, with an escort sent by Pluto himself, he knew something was off. Levesque practically radiated lies, and the escort was nothing short of suspicious. Her brother, she claimed. Son of Pluto.

Figures. The boy reeked of death, of course he would be the son of it.

When Jason Grace disappeared, Octavian was relieved. Finally, a chance to become praetor, to win the camp over and fix all the mistakes previous leaders had made.

But no, of course not. Reyna would not let him, and she was still a higher ranking officer than he was.

The Zhang boy showed up at some point. He wasn't all that suspicious or troublesome. No, he was just a nuisance. Clumsy, weak, cowardly. Traits that should never be in a Roman. Octavian was of the mind that they would have been better off without Frank Zhang.

Then, the last straw appeared, in the form of an overly powerful demigod by the name of Percy Jackson. And by the gods, Octavian hated him. In the camp run by order and rank, Percy Jackson brought chaos everywhere he went.

He had to admit, Jackson was fascinating. The son of Neptune was surrounded by souls of the dead, the damned, and everything in between. He exuded an aura of pure power, and had knowledge he should not have known.

Child of Neptune, huh? Perhaps, but this boy was, without a doubt, very much not a Roman.

War games were held that evening. And, the First Cohort lost, for the first time since Jason Grace vanished.

Octavian was seething. He probably should not have stabbed that centurion (what even was her name?), but he did not regret it. Besides, she survived. She should not have, but she did.

That evening was mess, but it eventually turned out fine. Yes, Percy Jackson disrespected a god and was nearly smited (a shame), but he and Octavian's two biggest problems were sent on a quest that would ultimately get them killed, so that was wonderful.

Of course, then the problems returned, saved their lives, and Percy Jackson was raised as praetor instead of Octavian, so that was actually a lost cause.

Problems continued appearing, in the form of a giant warship made and piloted by accursed Greeks, which promptly opened fire on them.

Damn it, he knew Jackson was no good. He should have stopped them earlier. He should have forseen this.

Oh well. He could still stop them. After all, he had Apollo's blessing, didn't he?

Reyna leaves on a quest, mostly likely false, which would end up with her exiled from the camp. Good. A girl like her should not have been praetor at all. It should have been Octavian, and now he had full control over Camp Jupiter.

The Greeks had this war a long time coming, and Octavian would lead it. This was his fate. Apollo himself said so.

He dressed himself in purple, draped himself in gold. Octavian welcomed back the previoiusly exiled, demigods and legacies who would help shape the camp into what it should have been.

And so it started.

A direct descendant of Apollo faced him, staring defiantly and spouting words that were pure disrespect. Octavian sputtered, speechless, but ultimately turned a blind eye. The demigod may exceed him in power, but Octavian exceeded him in rank. All in good time. The Greeks would learn to respect him, if he decided to leave any of them alive at all. All in good time.

Octavian reached to reload the onager. The battle with the Earth Mother may have been in the sky with demigods who were entirely irrelevant, but Octavian would be the one who comes out the hero. He must be. It was what he saw in the sacrifices.

The son of Apollo tried to stop him, but Octavian ignored him. This upstart wanted to take his glory, to steal his spotlight? The son of Pluto pulled the other boy back. Yeah. That's what he thought.

As he rocketed into the sky, thoroughly intertwined with the flaming cannonball he himself shot, he had only one thought amongst his own screams

This could not have been his fate. Right?

[sunshine-vine]

I wrote a thing 💐

https://archiveofourown.org/works/76954776

[vinesandvellichor]

snowdrops with their bowing heads dewy and weeping there in the mourning light bone white and shivering I wandered then, far slipping in school schools with shallow tread dead, he told me dead brittle branches snapping underfoot wondering how such fragile flowers could not smothered by the snow starved in that fallow cold while you, below grew colder, under earth under green and white your sweater, your smile eyes crinkling in the folds These, the signs of early spring – are bulbs of daffodils your company? Clutched there in your hands? Your life fed to them, the flowers of the season I never saw in but cannot picture you without

[vinesandvellichor]

routines and rituals, 1971 (desiderium for the old apartment)

I always wake up before you and I suppose that will remain the same. The actor, an early bird? Never. So I’ll keep on watching you in blissful sleep face relaxed and free. I’ll stroke your cheek and untangle our limbs. Like I always did. Still do.

Here the light is different, the bedroom window faces west and I guess, with me, the sun will no longer rise or caress your bare thigh from where you threw it out overnight, running hot. But I will. Still am.

The bed is not yet molded to our shape. A good thing, I know, you hated that old mattress with its vales and valleys and jutting springs. So, thinking on it, the complaints are lost too. You trailing sleepy behind, wrapping arms around. Me rubbing your back because it hurt.

All while the coffee waits on the counter. The stuff we always got from that charming little shop just around the corner where the owners knew our couch was unused. The one bedroom apartment for roommates and bachelors living on the cheap, lodged two lovers.

So please, let us keep that routine, go round for a needless encore in the morning in the kitchen, though you no longer need to be soothed. Before the new mattress wears out too.

There’s excitement in this fort of boxes, we’re like children playing knights, but I cannot repress this underscore of grief for an old life. A quiet hum in the dust motes, a fugue for the first place. All those battles fought for home.

Now the sun rises on a different side.

I’ll adjust. Ease into it (not unlike the mattress you despised). Afterall, beginnings are constant along with the change. I plucked out some grey hairs yesterday, slightly mortifying at twenty nine, and the lines by your eyes stay after you smile.

All worth a life side by side, hand in hand, wound and locked knees like grafted trees we are together at home. Always were. Still are.

[writer-who-reads]

Hey

I’m taking writing requests for stories. I’ll write pretty much anything, but if there’s even slightly a dark topic involved I won’t do it in second person. I’ll write from any point of view, with my own characters, or perhaps characters from idk Pjo/HoO/ToA or smth like that. Requests. Request things. Can be anonymous. Give me tropes to write, give me prompts, give me plotlines I can follow. Request things. Please.

okay thanks.

Pls do not request NSFW.

(Btw request things in my asks, not in the comments of this thing. Thanks)

edit: by dark topics I mean stuff like SH, depression, abuse, or suicidal thoughts. General violence or gore is something I will happily write in any point of view.