#sam.doc

[whenyoulosesmallmind]

why would the Ovi on Ovi with bossy nicke plot bunny have to go nowhere. I bet you could take it somewhere 👀👀

OK IT DID GO SOMEWHERE. sorry anon, i meant for this to come (hehe) much quicker and, to be honest, it was almost finished by valentine's day, but then life got in the way and i couldn't tie it up until uhhh. yesterday.

it is very much still pretty draft-y, there are a couple of places where i could expand a bit on things or play better with bby!Ovi's stream of thoughts, but these are fixes that i'll leave for if/when i'll post it on ao3.

since i usually take forever to write and you anon were to kind as to inquire on the plot bunny, i thought it still would be nice to share this bit.

beware, though, it is my very first, very clumsy attempt at porn and it is also the first time i write first in english without going through my first language, so it probably reads a bit different from my usual style.

*

wip: sharing in common tags: old!Ovi/bby!Ovi/Nicke, dom/sub undertones, undernegotiated kink, selfcest, shades of bored/ignored, oral sex, orgasm delay/denial, crack treated somewhat seriously insp: #I mean you know he'd do it#He is up for smashing himself#Hot hot Ovi on Ovi action tags by @thornescratch on their post

Sasha is almost sure that this Backy hates him. Which is a shame, because Sasha likes this older Backy with his natural hair colour almost as much he does his own – the scales are still tipped in favour of the younger Backy, though, even with the hair straightened and bleached hair, because this Backy watches his games from the press box, chewing tobacco and following plays he knows he has no longer any power over.

So, yes, the wrinkle between Backy’s brows is a novelty, though not something so surprising that Sasha couldn’t very well have chirped his own Backy about. Backy frowns easily, Sasha’s noticed, but he laughs easily, too, bright and happy, and Sasha likes it when it’s because of something he did. 

There are lines on this Backy’s face testifying that he hasn’t stopped laughing, either, although Sasha has yet to see him do anything more than straighten his lips in a tight smile – at Sasha, by the way, when Sasha had asked him if he’d finally stopped straightening his hair.

In retrospective, this might be the reason this Backy doesn’t hold much sympathy for Sasha, as Sasha’s starting to understand that hair is probably a touchy topic for every Backy at any moment in time – it has to be said, though, not every first words said to a person can be “The Washington Capitals are happy to pick Nicklas Bäckström”, and this Backy already has a Sasha that’s introduced himself with them. The same that had laughed, by the way, at Sasha’s exclamation; he’d laughed from the very depth of his chest and Sasha had felt at least a little vindicated for thinking that Backy looked better with his natural hair. 

Even though, duh, of course Sasha and the other Sasha shared the same opinion: they’re the same person – and it’s difficult for such deeply rooted beliefs to change, even with the passing of time.

Being the other Sasha, well, just a Sasha that got older, Sasha could swear on the fact that the other Sasha, unlike the other Backy, adores him. Sasha returns the feeling, of course, it shouldn’t even be mentioned.

Sasha adores the man that he’s become, the player – from the press box, he’s watched a game with Backy and observed how his game evolved with years, less fast but more physical, always dominating on and off the ice.

He loves the piercing on his cock, which is a difference Sasha must remedy as soon as possible, loves the sensation of metal touching his lips as he takes him into his mouth, dragging over his tongue. 

Sasha’s older self takes a sharp breath and spreads his thighs, pushing more of his cock in Sasha’s mouth, stretching his lips wider, making him gag a little. The hand in Sasha’s hair keeps its grip tight, pins and needles through his scalp, holding Sasha steady in place.

When it judges that Sasha’s not going to actually choke it pushes him back down on the other Sasha’s cock – excruciatingly slow, pulling him then a little back, letting Sasha feel the thickness of the cock fucking his mouth, the salty taste of sweat and the precome that he kept trying to uselessly swallow mixing on his tongue.

Sasha’s preferred kind of blowjobs have always leaned towards the hard and fast type, where the girl would let her mouth go slack and he would fuck her face until he came – and Sasha’s always been quite easy with girls, so he’s experienced a lot of different styles of giving head. 

Lots of thinking about what it would be like to be on the other side, too.

Hard and fast, Sasha thought that would’ve been the way he’d do it, pushing his imaginary partner’s hips down and rocking his world with his hands and mouth.

Wet, too, and messy, just like Sasha feels right now, with spit and saliva dripping down his chin, soaking his older self’s neatly trimmed pubic hair and the cloth of his underwear, pushed down just enough to free his cock.

Sasha can feel the weight of the other Backy’s gaze on himself. He knows the other Backy’s perched on the couch, sitting with his legs under himself, watching nonchalantly as Sasha takes more cock into his mouth, like it’s just a thing that doesn't matter at all, and it could be either this or the Sabres’ game on TV and it would affect him the same – nothing at all.

“You should let your hair grow a little,” there’s little interest in the other Backy’s tone of voice, too, when he speaks. And because Sasha knows this Backy doesn’t like him very much, he knows his words aren’t for him – although he wishes they were, because Sasha would like this Backy to like him almost as much as he wants his Backy to like him, which is: the exact amount it would take for Backy to let Sasha suck his dick. He wants Backy to comb his hair back from his face when they’re a little longer like this, too. “I had forgotten how much I liked them longer.”

Sasha wants to reach and touch his older self’s cock, hold what he can’t fit into his mouth. Sasha wants to just touch himself, too, his own cock hard and straining against the zipper of his jeans – he can feel his underwear sticking to his skin, probably ruined, soaked through with sweat and precome. He thinks about getting a hand around his cock, fucking his fist so slow and torturously just like the other Sasha is fucking his mouth, the weight of his own cock in his hand and pushing down his throat at the same time – it makes him shiver, makes him sink his nails into his wrist and swallow, since he can’t do much else.

Because Sasha wants this Backy to like him, too, and this Backy told him to keep his hands behind his back when Sasha knelt on the soft carpet in his other self’s living room, so that’s what he’s doing.

Sasha should hate it, this prickling of almost humiliation, and if it were anyone else he would want to be the one getting under their skin, making it itch until they couldn’t take it anymore; but there’s a sort of odd comfort in letting this Backy take control from him – this Backy’s already been there, he knows how it goes and how it ends, he’ll know what Sasha wants before Sasha will realise that he wants it.

“Easy,” Sasha hears his older self say, and. Fuck, he sounds wrecked; low and hoarse and almost over the edge.

“Close?” the other Backy asks quietly, just as the hand in Sasha’s hair pushes him lower until he’s finally, finally taking the last inches of his other self’s cock into his mouth. Sasha trembles; his jaw aches, a dull thud that echoes through his skull, pinpricks of pain shooting through his scalp to the back of his neck, where he’s being held, pinned down – and he’s panting for it, this helpless place Sasha’s let them put him in. Again, Backy’s words aren’t for Sasha, but yes – fucking, yes, he’s close, if he could, if someone, if he gets just the ghost of a touch on his cock he’s going to come his brains out.

But Sasha doesn’t get that – that pleasure, yet. He hears a soft murmur, something sweet Sasha doesn’t quite catch over the rush of blood in his ears, and the older Sasha’s thighs – splayed obscenely to frame Sasha’s head – tremble; Sasha would run the palm of his hands over the inside of his thighs, feel the muscles tense under the thick layer of fat – he’s got so much bigger, Jesus, Sasha wants to feel it against his body, skin to skin, this shape his older self has taken.

Then the older Sasha moans, low and deep, and he's thrusting up, chasing his release. Sasha – Sasha can’t do much more than keep his mouth slack, and his tongue over his teeth; his lips are wet, wet with spit and precome that he feels dripping down his chin, and this – this is more Sasha’s style of blowjob, sloppy and selfish, and – “You don’t have to swallow,” Sasha doesn’t immediately registers it’s directed at him; the other Backy’s voice is not unkind, but there also isn’t any hint of challenge in his tone and that has Sasha almost shaking with the, the desire to just go above and beyond any expectations this Backy has, to show him that he really can become – that he will become this Sasha that sits at his side, in any possible universe.

So, Sasha does try to swallow when his older self thrusts one, two more times and spills deep inside his mouth.

It’s – a lot, the sudden bitter taste of come filling his mouth, the cock pulsating on his tongue, the hand in Sasha’s hair tightening its grip and keeping him still until Sasha can’t swallow anymore and he’s just panting heavily, come dripping from his lips and sticking to his skin.

He’s pulled off the other Sasha’s cock almost gently, the hand in Sasha’s hair carding through the mess of them before cupping his cheek, sliding its thumb into Sasha’s mouth to keep it open, pressing down on Sasha’s tongue so that saliva pools behind his teeth and Sasha isn’t able to swallow it down.

It’s then that Sasha flutters his eyes open and makes a half choked, half desperate sound. He looks up, to his older self; the other Sasha’s head is thrown back over the back of the couch, fresh red marks trailing upwards the column of his neck, disappearing under the salt and pepper of his beard; he’s panting, too, his shirt rucked up just enough to expose the softest part of his belly, the hair trailing down towards his cock, spit slick and softening. The other Sasha’s hands are, too, obediently splayed over his thighs.

It’s Backy’s arm that’s outstretched towards Sasha, that’s keeping him open and vulnerable on the floor – that’s, fuck, Backy’s fingers pushing come back onto his tongue and then shallowly fucking into his mouth.

Sasha sucks on his fingers a little, messily just like Backy’s been teaching him, before Backy’s pulling them out with a little pleased sound that makes Sasha feel like he’s bursting at the seams.

Backy wipes his fingers on the older Sasha’s trousers. “So,” he says, and Sasha’s already watching Backy’s hands – he catches Backy’s light tap on the other Sasha’s hands just before the other Sasha moves to tuck himself back into his underwear.

“I want,” Sasha starts, his voice hoarse. Backy’s looking at him with his head tilted slightly; he’s still playing at being uninterested, but he’s flushed strawberry red and he’s sucking on his lips like Sasha’s own Backy does when he’s focusing his attention on something, tongue darting out just barely in a flash of small teeth.

His older self’s hands cup Sasha’s face, thumbs massaging in slow circles the aching hinges of his jaw. Sasha leans into the touch, his eyes drooping shut.

“He know already what you want,” the other Sasha laughs.

“Maybe I’d like to hear it again.”

Sasha looks up at Backy. He feels just as pinned by Backy’s steady gaze as he did by his hand – the ease with which Backy understood that Sasha needed to be the centre of attention and with which he put him there.

“I want,” Sasha starts again, his voice rasping. The older Sasha hums, resting his thumbs at the corners of Sasha’s mouth, and Backy’s lips curl into a soft smile that has Sasha longing for this future. “I give you all you want.”

Backy brushes a strand of Sasha’s hair behind his ear, his hand lingering over the back of the other Sasha’s. “You already have.”

Sasha thinks it’s probably not meant for him, yet, but it doesn’t matter. He knows he will.

[aelyosos]

some ocean/helena pwp i'm workin on 😳

pairing: ocean/helena verse: original (dnd + sunless sea) word count: 425 warnings: uhhh implied dildo use ??? bit spicy ig idk

---------

By the time Helena is done with her nightly bedtime routine, she discovers Ocean has long since passed out, sprawled almost halfway across her spot in the bed with one of her small fancy pillows tucked underneath an arm.

Helena huffs softly, shaking her head as she turns the light in the bathroom off. She comes further out into her bedroom, approaching the bedside and eyeing Ocean closer. He’d been so tired lately; this wouldn’t be the first time this week he’d fallen off to sleep without telling her goodnight… or having a little bit of fun before bed. He was a pain to pull from sleep sometimes, and she knew he’d likely been less than sober while awake. Pirates. She purses her lips and reaches down in order to smooth some stray hair from his face, and that’s when one of Ocean’s bright green eyes flick open and he stares at her. A sneaky smirk pulls at the corners of his lips, and she realizes he's always been awake.

“...Got ye, didn’t I?”

“Move over,” She gripes, stepping closer and placing one of her knees on the edge of the bed.

“r’ what, sweet’eart? Ye’ll jump me?” Ocean shifts just so, lifting his brows at her in challenge.

“That’s exactly what I’ll do!” Helena says, and pounces aggressively on top of him.

Ocean laughs, twisting just in time to catch her arms as she playfully shoves her hands at him. She pushes at his arms and shoulders, his chest – putting her weight into it as she tries to wrestle with him. Ocean snorts at her attempts before suddenly wrapping his legs around hers and locking her body against his.

“Ocean, don’t you dare!”

But Ocean does, and he swiftly maneuvers himself to easily roll on top of Helena, pinning her beneath him. He flashes her the white of his pointy teeth, pleased with himself and their predicament.

“Smile while you can, big boy. I have something that’ll wipe that smug look off your face, just you wait,” Helena breathes, staring up at him.

Ocean parts his lips, wetting them slightly with his tongue as he leans down closer towards her. “An’ what good’s that gonna do ye now, del*?”

Without warning, Helena suddenly leans up and kisses Ocean hard, pressing her soft pink lips against his. “As if I’m helpless without a toy,” She murmurs almost cryptically against him.

That gives Ocean pause, and this time it’s Helena’s turn to offer him a knowing smile. “I don’t need to fight you, Ocean. I know what you like."

---------

* del = pretty (welsh)

[whenyoulosesmallmind]

happy hockeyblr coffee date! @karlkapri thank you so much for the open invitation, it was a lovely occasion to actually get me to work on something. i'm infinitely grateful!

i cheated a little, if you look closely at the time on my laptop screen you'll see i took some time to go back home and have dinner -- i zoned out a little between taking the picture and the library's closing time. and i forgot a treat! damn.

this is a snippet of what i was working on, polished a little and translated:

aka: the au where nicke is a vampire and ovi is a little obsessed with it.

[whenyoulosesmallmind]

like a figure of speech, in a maze of white lies [wip] writing:

vs its inspiration, aaron schwartz's on the other side of grief with ocean vuong:

[whenyoulosesmallmind]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

(like a figure of speech) in a maze of white lies

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Men's Hockey RPF Collection: ALLCAPS24 (@allcaps-fest24) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Nicklas Backstrom (b. 1987 Sweden)/Alexander Ovechkin Characters: Nicklas Backstrom (b. 1987 Sweden), Alexander Ovechkin Additional Tags: 2023-2024 NHL Season, Character Study, Internalized Homophobia, Angst, Mutual Pining, Morning After, hopeful. ish

Summary: In late January, Nicklas Bäckström joined the team for a four-game road trip in which he wouldn't play. “Nicke licked his teeth like he was going to fix his mouthguard one last time before jumping on the ice, considering how he should recover the interrupted play. The anticipation was just the same, a subtle line between panic and adrenaline with no output if not spasmodic waiting; his mouth still tasted like come, not plastic.”

[whenyoulosesmallmind]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Война и мир - Лев Толстой | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov/Andrei Nikolayevich Bolkonsky Characters: Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov, Andrei Nikolayevich Bolkonsky, Other Characters Mentioned Additional Tags: First Kiss, Internalized Homophobia, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Canon Compliant, Not Beta Read - we die at borodino

Summary: Pierre goes to vist Andrej in Moscow after his engagement to Nataša is broken - and a realisation is had. “Therefore: Pierre bent over prince Andrej and found he had unlearned the confines of his body.”

*[per gli amici italiani, se volete infliggervi incredibili danni cerebrali e aprire EFP dopo decenni, trovate la versione italiana qui]

[aelyosos]

wip day

tagged by @nuclearstorms + @liurnia -- thank you both sm ! i wanna get into the habit of posting more of my writing, so here's a lil snippet from smth w ocean i jst started tonight.

tagging: @swordcoasts + @turbulentpumpkin43 + @detect-thoughts + @three-of-crows + @lightattacks + @halkvonn + @telumendill + @arklay + @aartyom + any1 else who'd like to !! 💕

warnings for arguing + drinking.

“You’re drinking again,” Helena says, her voice a soft yet angry resignation.

“Jus’ a lil’,” Ocean says, putting the bottle of rum to his lips and taking a swig.

Helena narrows her blue eyes at him. “You’re already drunk.”

Ocean heaves a sigh, feeling his throat burn from the liquid. “Th’ hell y’botherin’ my arse fer? Ain’t doin’ nothin’ t’ ya.”

Helena comes closer, folding her arms across her chest, as though she were cold. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

Ocean’s tail flicks, watching her with a hardened expression. “S’ a fuckin’ first.”

“Oh please, Ocean. Don’t start,” She says, stopping near the small bar he sat at. “I’m not here to fight; I just came to check.”

Ocean huffs a small laugh to himself, tipping the bottle to his lips once more. He says nothing.

Helena steals a glance at the bottle before her eyes rest back on Ocean’s face. “You’re only hurting yourself, you know.”

“S’then leave me t’ it,” Ocean snaps, and Helena stiffens at his tone.

“You act like it’s me who’s hurting you, but look at what you do to you.”

Ocean snorts. “Aye, s’got nothin’ t’ do with ye, lass.”

It’s Helena’s turn to sigh. “I think you just want to be miserable.”

[whenyoulosesmallmind]

Tagged by @thefoulbeast!

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words.

I’m making this count as a “sam’s wip whenever”, so here are you subjected to the last lines I fiddled with from the date fic - no it’s not finished yet but I will! One day. Haven’t really had proper time/energy to write this last period, shush.

On the other side of the table, Deathsaurus takes a long exaggerated sip from his drink. His straw is tinted bright too, the same shade of brilliant blue of the windbreaker that’s draped on the back of his chair. Tarn thinks it an extremely kitsch piece of clothing but had precedently lost the opportunity to comment on it; he feels now so impotent and frustrated that he’s on the verge on bringing up the argument.

...not as many as the words, but I’m tagging: @visbs, @mocha-writes, @quenthel, @oldshittydog, @perkeleen-lavellan - not an obligation to participate, just if you feel like it <3