#sar writes

[goneinsecondsxo]

jegulus | 1.3k | hockey player x figure skater |

Regulus walks into the rink, skates in hand, bag slung over his shoulder ready to practice. Finals are fast approaching, and he needs to perfect a few of his more difficult moves. It’s late, and he knows the rink is usually empty at this hour, especially since the hockey team doesn’t practice on Tuesdays.

He’s looking forward to the quiet solitude, the chance to focus without distractions. But as he steps inside, the unmistakable sound of skates gliding over ice and the sharp slap of a puck hits his ears. Regulus groans internally, rolling his eyes as he approaches, less than excited to see who he’s going to have to kick off the ice tonight.

Potter.

He should have fucking known. Dropping his bag with a loud thud Regulus walks to the edge of the rink, eyes trained on the familiar body gliding around the ice. James skates like the ice is a natural extension of his body. Effortless, smooth, and fast. He’s bloody fit, and Regulus absolutely hates him for it. Hates how easy he makes it look, how James glides in perfect circles, tracking the puck with precision, then seamlessly sending it into the goal. 

Regulus has despised hockey players his entire life. Always fighting for ice time, even back when he was a teenager in his hometown. He thought things might be different at University, but it turns out hockey players are just as insufferable here as they were back home. And James? He’s the worst. Because he’s nice. Regulus can’t stand how genuinely kind James is, as if being captain of the University hockey team somehow makes his niceness even more unbearable. But Regulus isn’t buying it. Refuses to buy it no matter how many interactions he and James have proving otherwise. He’s not sure how someone could be so consistently kind, especially someone with so much power and ego wrapped up in their position. 

“Oi! Potter!” Regulus calls from the side of the ice. James whips his head, hazel eyes piercing directly into Regulus’ as a sly smile fits his face. He skates over nonchalantly, coming right up to where Regulus stands, only the boards between them.

“Black, what are you doing here?” James takes off his gloves and helmet.

“Well, I came to practice, seeing as there’s a competition coming up and there’s usually no one here this late. Why am I not surprised to run into you though? You always seem to just be here whenever I don’t want you around. Which, now that I think of it, is always. Like a gnat.”

James grins, “Well, I have a big game this weekend, so I wanted to practice a few drills on my own. Plus, it’s not like we signed up for the ice, so it really is free reign, you know?” He says, leaning against the boards and into Regulus’ space. 

“Okay, but I need the ice now. You’ve had your time, now go.” Regulus waves his hand out in a shooing motion and James responds by laughing. Laughing.

Instantly the heat of annoyance extends through Regulus’ entire body.

“I’ve got an idea,” James says with a grin. “What if we shared? I take one half, and you take the other?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Over my dead body am I sharing the ice with you.”

“Well, write me an obituary then, because I’m not leaving. I have every right to be here, same as you.”

Regulus huffs. “I need the whole rink to practice, Potter. I can’t get enough speed without it.”

“No, you don’t, Regulus. You just don’t want to share it with me. Either split it down the middle, or you can leave. I was here first.”

James turns and skates off, leaving Regulus to make up his mind. With a frustrated sigh, Regulus resigns himself to sharing the ice, knowing deep down he really does need the practice.

He can ignore James.

He can.

Regulus groans as he sits down to lace up his skates. Almost all of his annoyance fades the second he hits the ice, the smooth glide calming him as he begins to meticulously practice his routine on his half of the rink.

But he can feel James’ eyes on him, the weight of his gaze following every move. Despite his focus, Regulus can't shake the sense of being watched as he skates, jumps, and spins. He tries to shake the feeling of James’ eyes as he gears up for the move he needs to practice the most: his hydroblade. He starts skating, slowly bending his leg and sinking closer to the ground until the ice is underneath his fingertips. A smile pulls at his lips as he nails the move, intensely focused. As he stands back up, slowing down to a stop, he can't help but let out an excited yelp.

The sound of clapping rings in the air and he turns to see James standing and cheering him on. Regulus attempts to roll his eyes, but the smile pulling at his lips betrays him. Skating over to where James is, he sends him a pointed look. 

“Are you really cheering for me right now?” His voice comes out like honey, which is unintended, but with a bitter edge to it.

“Well, yeah, of course! That was amazing! You look incredible on the ice, you know. Angelic almost.”

They’re only a few inches apart, and Regulus hates the way his cheeks heat at the compliment and his breath hitches when James closes in on him. 

“You okay, Black?” James says with a self-satisfied smirk.

“M’fine,” Regulus chokes out, his voice faltering as James skates another inch closer.

“Am I making you nervous?” James asks, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips as he leans in a little closer.

“No, you could never make me nervous.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” James teases, his grin widening. “You seem a little tense right now.”

Unfortunately, they’ve been here before. As nice as James is, he does also have that cocky side to him. The one that reminds Regulus how he’s made it so far in this sport, how he has his entire team wrapped around his finger. And that’s what makes this game between them so fun.

Regulus musters up whatever strength he has in him to push back. Closing in another inch too, the space between them is almost nonexistent now.

“Are you sure I’m the only one who’s nervous?” Regulus asks with a tilt of his head.

James’ pupils blow wide, and Regulus tracks the way his Adam's apple bobs, eyes flicking down briefly to Regulus’ lips.

Their breath mingles in the close space between them, and Regulus can practically hear his own heart pounding in his ears. He never knows which one of them will break first, but it’s inevitable that one of them will. Whether it’s locker rooms, parties, or empty classrooms, somehow he and James always find each other.

Regulus hates it. But he also loves it. Craves it. The bickering, the teasing, the push and pull—it’s a game they can’t seem to quit. And Regulus honestly isn’t sure which one of them is winning anymore.

However, when James leans in, his lips brushing the spot behind Regulus’ ear—the one that drives them both crazy—He decides he doesn’t even care anymore. Not when James is this close to him, the smell of his sweat filling Regulus’ senses, and the thought of his skin being within reach makes it all the more intense.

“Get in the penalty box, James,” Regulus whispers, savoring the low rumble that escapes from him.

“So it’s James now?” There’s a glimmer in his eye, one that pisses Regulus off. “I had a feeling we’d end up here,” James says confidently, his hand wrapping around Regulus’ as they skate toward the box. “We always do.”

“Fuck you, James,” Regulus mutters, giving James a gentle shove into the box.

“Oh, I intend to, sweetheart. A nice reward for nailing that trick.”

Regulus tries to stifle the sound caught in his throat, but it slips out anyway as James pulls him into a kiss, and he melts into it. Just like he always does.

Thank god no one ever shows up to the rink this late.

[mstrickster]

Contract-dictions Chapter 3!

LINK

Now with required listening!

@urfavrib COME GET FOOD!

[bibblelevi]

Okay but lately I’ve been in love with the concept of like, long distance pining with Levi?

You meet in France when you’re abroad for a summer, and he’s grumpy and tattooed and never smiles. You run into him frequently enough at the café in the small town you’re temporarily staying, where he’s lived his whole life. By no means is he here to be part of the welcoming committee—that’s just not his style—but his home is special to him, and he wants you to leave with a lasting impression, so he takes you on a “grand” tour.

Farmers markets, the countryside, wine tasting, hikes, hidden gems—he drives you around everywhere in his beat up car and soon figures out you’re one of the only people he can withstand being around for long periods of time.

He hates the heat, but he loves the long flowy sundresses you wear; he loves how pretty your fingers look holding a wine glass; he hates being sporadic but he loves how you visibly become more excited when there’s an adventure involved.

He falls first—and hard. It’s difficult for him to stomach. It’s difficult to exist when you’re constantly simultaneously alive in his head and right in front of him. He could never fathom the idea of you reciprocating his feelings, so he doesn’t say anything. He just treasures your fleeting time together, everything about you burned into his brain, committed to memory. And he knows deep down he could never forget a single thing.

The day you finally leave is bittersweet. Everything is so heavy. You’re sad; he’s quiet. He drives you to the airport and you bring him in for a hug. It’s the first time he’s felt you this close, and the last time for a while—maybe forever. He tells you, “See you later,” the mask of indifference wobbling before you’re heading to your gate.

There’s no looking back. No more hugs. There’s no kiss. Just a knot in his throat and an empty feeling in your absence. You’ve become more a part of him in this past month than anyone else has in his whole life.

And then comes the next torturous months. Endless text messages and random calls, sometimes FaceTime or Skype or audio recordings you send when you’re ranting too much to type. You’re an ocean away, and the time difference is jarring, but Levi’s an insomniac, so when you’re drunk texting him at two in the morning, he’s obliged to put you to bed with a phone call.

When you post on your Instagram, he’s lurking in the comments, trying to see who’s roaming there. If he’s brave enough, he types out a ‘pretty’ or ‘i remember this shirt’ and holds his phone to his chest as he waits for his heart to stop pounding.

It’s late one particular night when you call, and he’s just getting out of bed.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

You sigh, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice,” you admit. You can’t take it anymore—the distance. Thinking about him physically hurts you. The tears start spilling out. “That was the best summer of my life.”

He can’t tell you’re crying, but you hear a soft breath on the end of the line that sounds exactly like that shy laugh you miss. It lessens your pain by a fraction. “You must’ve had some shitty summers then.”

When you sniffle, he knows you’re upset.

“Did something happened?” He wishes he could reach through the phone and just grab you and wipe the tears away.

“No. No, I just… I just want to be near you again.”

“I want to be near you, too.”

You nod, though he can’t see. “Will you send me some pictures?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

In a small voice, you add, “Will you send some sweatshirts to me, too?”

His mouth twitches. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He can’t take much more after that tiny admission. It’s enough for him to finally break and buy that plane ticket. He flies across the sea, shows up at your front door with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

The very moment you lay eyes on him, you just take him in. His hair has grown out wavier, he has some new ear piercings, he’s gained some color on his cheeks. You don’t throw yourself at him or smother him either, you just sort of fall into him. Carefully wind your arms around his neck and press your nose where his scent is the strongest. All of those days come back to you when the smell of soap and musk hits you.

When his arms close around you, you finally let yourself cling to him.

You have no words. You’re so happy you can’t stand yourself, and so relieved you start to cry. He doesn’t really know what to say either so he just slides his palm down the back of your head and guides your mouth onto his. He kisses you, slow and sweet, fighting back tears of his own because being close to you again feels so right, in every sense.

“I should’ve done that months ago,” he rasps as he pulls away.

You shake your head. “It’s okay now. Just come here,” you demand, opening your mouth wider for him.

[neljostns]

I was working on a daily flash fiction piece and it go too long and now i can’t stop thinking about it and the characters and that’s the story of how I may have just accidentally started writing my first novel 

[bibblelevi]

YES LMFAO GIVE US MORE PUNISHMENT AND REWARD🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️It might just kill me but it will be a good way to go out

It won’t kill you don’t worry

Warnings for hybrids (Kitty! Levi), chastity/cock cage, heavy petting and making out, degradation, Switch! Levi Ackerman, use of “mommy”, thigh-riding

You easily fall back into your routine within the next few days: Wake up and get ready for work, make your coffee and Levi’s tea, then wake him. You knock gently on the door and poke your head inside, the room cloaked in darkness. Levi can’t sleep with a smidge of light, so you place his tea on the nightstand and roll the blinds up. Morning rays pour over his bed and soak him in liquid gold.

He stirs.

“Levi, baby, I have a short trip. Remember?” you say.

He grunts and rolls onto his back, his shirt rolling up to expose his lower stomach. You ghost your fingers over the ticklish area and he squirms.

“That’s today?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Yes. I’ll be back tomorrow night. I left the card on the counter. This time, maybe you can try not to buy an entire wardrobe’s worth of lingerie?”

His nose crinkles. “You said to buy whatever I want.”

Your hand rubs back and forth, finger hooking under his brief’s waistband. You tug down the fabric and tuck the band beneath his cock, then take him into your hand.

He blushes, tongue bitten between his teeth to restrain any protests.

“Be a good boy when I’m gone and maybe you’ll get a reward,” you say, stroking his balls with your thumb.

He responds by aggressively turning over and yanking his comforter up to his chin. He glares through his lashes. “I hate you.”

“Oh, don’t be a sourpuss.”

“I’m not a—“

You sprawl yourself over his body, which looks more like a bundled lump, and he groans at the sudden impact.

“Come on, I want a kiss before I leave. I’m going to miss you,” you pout. You move your head around, searching for his lips, but he keeps the lower half of his face hidden under the sheets.

“It’s only one night,” his muffled voice reminds.

You frown. “Please?”

You hover over him and gently press your mouth between his eyebrows before kissing along the fine hairs to his temple. Levi eventually sighs, allowing the blanket to fall. He unveils his mouth and you swoop in to capture your prize. For how stubborn he was earlier, he’s now anything but. His lips massage yours, tongue grazing the backs of your teeth as if to latch your mouths together. It grows heated quickly. Your fingers tangle in the freshly-washed strands of his hair from the night prior, smoothing down his ears. The comforter is nothing but another barrier between your bodies he needs to get rid of.

He practically pounces, and you squeal against his lips as he rolls you on your back. It’s been a couple days since you’ve been intimate, or since he’s shown much initiative, so the relief is immediate. He grabs your wrists and pins them down, his stomach flush against yours and his hips squirming between your thighs. He nips your bottom lip, trapping it between his teeth before letting it snap back into place.

“After you take this thing off, I’m going to fuck the shit out of you,” he rasps.

“Mm, that’s rather vulgar of you to say,” you tell him, gasping when he jams three fingers into your mouth, unprompted. He pushes down on your tongue and licks the side of your neck.

“Shut up, Mommy,” he hisses.

His other hand shoves your shirt up, freeing your clad breasts, and he shoves his other hand into the cup of your bra to massage the aching flesh. Your moan dies on his fingers, tears swelling in your eyes as he pushes back further, seeing how much of their girth you can take.

Levi uses you. He straddles your thigh and rubs himself against the firm skin. But it doesn’t feel the same as it does when he’s not caged.

He uses his chin to shove the cup of your bra down, then pops your nipple into his mouth to silence his own frustrated whines. It’s no use, but he doesn’t know that yet—you just have to wait for him to realize you’re the one in control of whether he finds his release or not.

And, he won’t. He’s not nearly worked up enough to cum like this. Soon, though, it may be possible.

“Fuck, agh— “ he groans. His blushing cockhead spills over with arousal, slathering your skin in a sheer glow.

He yanks his fingers from your mouth, drool clinging to your lips and chin. He slides his arm under yours to tighten his hold and pounds harder and faster, his teeth clasping around your breast. The sting coaxes a cry from your throat, but it’s fallen on deaf ears.

You bring your shaky hand to the back of his head. “It’s not enough, hm?”

He whimpers.

“Poor boy.” You grab him by the nape and force him off, then sit yourself on his cock. “That wasn’t very nice of you, baby. I’m not some object you can just hump like you’re some bitch in heat.”

His chest heaves, and he writhes underneath you, fingers kneading the mattress. He fixes you with a glare, silver eyes sharp with defiance.

“That reward is looking less appealing the longer you look at me like that.”

He softens his expression, barely, but you squish his cheeks and wordlessly praise him for trying.

“I’ve been spoiling you too much, so now you think you can just cum whenever you want. No restraint. No patience,” you say, slowly grinding forward. The pressure licks at the fiery heat between your thighs. “Now I have to train it out of you.”

He pushes up, aiding your efforts, but purely for his own selfish reasons.

“I’m going to be a better owner”—you touch his lips, sealing away his frustrations—“so you can be a better pet.”

Something in him clicks, and he wraps his lips around your finger. He sucks you in.

[bibblelevi]

Here’s a sneak peak of Mermaid Reader and God of War Levi because I’m feeling inadequate over how long it takes to write 🙏🏻

Levi’s white shirt hangs from your shoulders, a single button barely holding the flaps closed. The water from your wet hair has already turned the upper half of the shirt sheer.

Your steady hands weave flowers into braided grass, mimicking the crooked golden crown on Levi’s head. You allow your body to lean into him, his familiar fingertips stroking up and down your arm, lips narrowly grazing your ear lobe. He arrived with blood under his fingernails today, which is presumably why he’s unusually close.

The insects buzz and the birds sing. The sun hangs in the sky like a blooming, blinding silver dollar.

Dusty pink, lavender, and white flowers stick out along the crown, weighing it down like the plated leaves of the chaplet. You smile. “Trade with me?”

Levi raises his brows, but nonetheless reaches for his crown and places it onto your head. You reciprocate, gently setting the crown of flowers on top of his soft black hair. Your eyes glow.

Levi admires the golden chaplet on your head. It brings out your irises and your skin, and he wishes he could bathe you in melted pots of the metal and watch it mold to every crevice and crease of your body.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, fixing a few strands of messy hair. Pink that matches the flowers forms along the tops of his cheeks. “Utterly beautiful.”

He runs his thumb over your chin and prods at your bottom lip, quickly shutting you up. The smooth action has your eyes crossing.

“Don’t flatter me.” He sighs contentedly. “Not when you look like this.” His fingers cup the delicate nape of your neck.

“Like what?”

“A deity.” He kisses your jaw, sweet and chill-inducing. You feel incandescent.

Levi’s hand drops lower down your waist until he’s grabbing your hip, right above the mosaic of scales on your lower half. Unsure what to do with your hands, you entwine them within the fabric of his shirt. Your body shivers when another searing breath fans you over your pulse.

“Levi,” you whisper, his name the only word you remember how to say.

He exhales. A shudder wracks his body. “Are you playing tricks on my mind? Seducing me?”

“Not at all— “

“I can’t go a single night without thinking of you. It’s fucking torture,” he confesses.

The corners of your mouth lift. You settle into his chest, cuddling closer. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder, I suppose.”

“I wish it didn’t.” Levi hates being a lovesick fool. It doesn’t suit him, and it’s bothersome.

“I’m glad it does,” you insist. “I’m glad it’s me in your head and no one else. Is that too selfish of me to say?”

His tone dips, “If it is, you should dare say more selfish things.”

[bibblelevi]

As a Valentine’s treat for you guys, here’s a snippet from my Restaurant AU work in progress. I have no clue when it will be finished, or how long it will end up. I’m kind of just writing to write.

Expect major fluff in this piece, and a semi-enemies to friends to lovers trope.

Pairing: Chef! Levi Ackerman x Waitress! Grad student! Reader

He points towards the mound of flour. “You’re gonna make a hole in that pile right there.”

“Because we’re gonna put the eggs in the middle?”

He nods. “Right.”

He demonstrates first by using a fork to craft the circle, creating a well-shape, then he glances at you.

“No need to rush it. You go.”

You take the fork and continue widening the hole, making sure you’re not leaving out any stray clumps of flour from the ring. He bobs his head sparingly, not vocally praising you for the bare minimum, but also not condescending you. If anything, he looks stuck in his own concentration.

You find that wrinkle between his eyebrows quite cute, actually; but you force that disturbing thought of your head as quick as it comes. Levi isn’t cute. He’s mean, and terrifying, and sometimes you’re afraid if you look at him, he’ll turn you to stone. You wouldn’t dare tell him or anyone else that, though. You refuse to carry yourself in any way other than fearless.

“That’s good,” he stops you, then reaches for the carton of eggs. “You can crack eggs, right?”

You playfully jab your elbow into his side, and he grunts, stabbing you back but with narrowed eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can crack a damn egg.”

“Five eggs, three yolks. Do the five in this bowl first.” He sets a bowl in front of you, and you flash him your fakest smile before cracking the egg on the table and emptying it into the bowl.

You’re on the third egg when his hand interrupts your view. He knocks an egg on the countertop, then cracks it over the bowl using one hand. Your mouth falls open.

“Show off.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not as hard as it looks. I bet you can do it.”

He places an egg in your hand and waits.

“What do I do?”

“Just try. Crack it on the table, then try to open it with one hand.”

You put your faith in him, following his instructions perfectly. Though it’s a bit sloppy, and a few shells drop into the mixture, you manage to follow through. Your grin turns toothy. “I did it!”

When you look up, Levi’s staring at you. He’s wearing a look you’ve never seen, so you don’t know what it means. You don’t really know what any of his looks mean, except for the downright murderous ‘Don’t ever second guess my ability to cook a steak’ expression you see more than five times during a rush. If you had to guess, he’s on the opposite side of the spectrum somewhere. The wrinkles between his brows and across his forehead have smoothed over, and his eyes are a lighter shade of grey, even a bit blue. His lips are wet, partly opened as if he meant to say something but never managed to get the words out.

“What is it?” you ask.

His prolonged staring lasts a few more seconds before he awkwardly clears his throat. With his clean hand, he rubs at the nape of his neck and shakes his head. “None of your business,” he mutters.

He rubs his nose. When he finally drops his hand, the normally pale skin is tinted red. You think nothing of it.

[bibblelevi]

In a kitty levi brain rot so have a sneak peak of Punishment and Reward…

Warnings for hybrids, spanking (paddle), crying, orgasm denial, degradation (“slut”), chastity, master/pet dynamic, lingerie

“You're moaning like such a slut, I couldn’t understand a word you just said,” you muse.

“Please, let me come.”

“No. Don’t make me repeat myself again, Levi.”

He curses. You punish the language with another disciplinary swat.

“Mmn!”

“I want you to try again for me. I know you can do it.”

The words “impress me” play on a loop in his head, and he sucks in a loud breath. Tears clump his lower lashes together. One of your hands cups the back of his head, gently holding him in place.

“I-I must inform my Master of all my needs and desires, at all times,” he croaks out.

He’s rewarded with the vibrator snug against his taint. The sensations narrowly meet the sweet spot in his ass that the plug is situated against, and his body burns for more than just release. He wants you to ram through him.

You toy with the settings, changing the speed from high to low, sometimes letting it pulse for a minute before returning to a consistent setting. You win the most noise out of Levi when the speed is high and the pulse is hitting him from the outside. Despite how you constantly need to correct his position, he always pounces his way onto his elbows and hangs his head forward. Eventually, you stop correcting it entirely.

When the next hits land, one on each cheek, the drool smacks between his lips as he gasps, “I will… address my Master with proper respect and dignity.”

You drop the paddle entirely and scoop up each red cheek, groping and massaging the plush while your fingertips leave behind pale indents.

“If you want to sit on your elbows like that, then raise your ass up,” you demand.

Levi accepts the compromise, molding his body into the demanded position. His knees dig into your outer thigh, spread open, and his spine curls beautifully.

Your hand strokes up and down the rear of his thigh. “What a good slut.” As you sink further inwards, your finger catches a string of creamy arousal leaking from the cage. You exhale, squeezing your legs together. “Oh, you poor thing. Look at how desperate you are.”