When I say I want Shane and Ilya to retire at the same time, I mean the exact same time. As in after their last game ever, there is a five minute standoff as they both wait for the other to step off the ice first. "After you. No please you go first. No you. No you. You got onto the ice first Ilya. Well you were born first Hollander so you go." They eventually agree to hold hands and step off together, squeezing their big shoulders thru the small gap at the same time.
This continues into who leaves the shower first, who leaves the locker room first, who leaves the stadium first etc. They are an hour late to their retirement party.
so many misguided metaphors around violence and desire. if the open maw of a panting beast fills you with the want to be devoured, that does not make you prey. while the rabbit trembles in fear, its deepest desire is to run. evolution demands it. in fact, the desire to be eaten does not make you any small animal at all.
the whole boston team knowing about montreal jane and they think that ilya rozanov who can pull any girl he wants must have found a real baddie the way he keeps coming back for more and then hard cut to shane hollander on a friday night drinking tea and reading the same hockey book for the fourth time who when ilya texts him asking what are you wearing? texts back my new organic cotton pj set and ilya texts back i'm so hard tell me more
hollanov - time travel or a very realistic dream - domestic
Ilya wasn't used to having colossal hangovers.
Like a good Russian, he had been drinking since a very young age. At seventeen, he was brimming with rebellion, and almost every weekend ended in expensive alcohol, wild parties, and questionable decisions. Even so, he could count on the fingers of one hand the times he’d lost control to the point of blacking out completely.
Perhaps that was why the sensation was so miserable. When a hangover hit, he’d get the ominous sensation that he was going to die. And this seemed to be one of those times.
His head throbbed as if someone had struck the center of his skull with a sledgehammer. Light invaded the room mercilessly, piercing his closed eyelids and assaulting his already battered brain.
For a moment, still caught between sleep and consciousness, Ilya wondered if he’d forgotten to close his apartment window. That level of brightness seemed impossible for any remotely civilized person.
With a low groan, Ilya brought a hand to his face and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to roll onto his side, seeking a less miserable position, but something heavy held him back.
Had Anya climbed into his bed again?
Ilya frowned and opened his eyes just enough to make out a shape resting on his chest.
Someone.
It took a few seconds for the realization to cut through the hangover haze.
Ilya blinked slowly and let his gaze wander around the room. It didn't look like his place, but, honestly, that wasn't the main concern. Waking up in unfamiliar locations wasn't exactly new to him; after all, he has had more wild nights than he could count.
The problem wasn't the location.
The problem was that there was clearly a man lying on his chest.
Ilya turned his head slowly, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his temple, and stared at the stranger. A head rested against his chest, covered in long black hair. The person was breathing softly, clearly deep in sleep. Ilya raised a hand and brushed the hair aside to get a better look at who it was.
And damn... Fucking gorgeous.
Even through his grogginess, Ilya noticed it instantly.
What a hot man.
Beautiful freckles were scattered across his face, and he looked like something straight out of Ilya’s wettest dreams.
The man was wearing a loose sweatshirt, and from Ilya’s point of view, he could catch glimpses of pale shoulders and a muscular chest. He didn't know how he’d managed it, but clearly, the night before, he had achieved the impossible and gone home with a guy like this. He almost regretted not remembering it.
Sensing he was being watched, the man slowly opened his eyes.
Such beautiful brown eyes.
And before Ilya could think of anything clever to say, the stranger smiled at him, murmured something in a language he didn't understand and, without further ado, kissed him.
Ilya certainly wasn't going to question it.
At first, the kiss was shy, almost playful, as if it were something they did every day. Soon, however, the kisses grew longer and more intense. The man’s hand moved up from Ilya’s chest and threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer—as if that were even possible. His tongue grazed the line of Ilya’s lips while his fingernails lightly raked against the back of his neck.
Ilya wrapped his arm around the man’s waist. He could already feel the excitement spreading through his body like a flame, and honestly, if this was the result of the previous night’s drinking, then maybe drinking until he passed out was an excellent idea after all.
But before anything could happen, a sound interrupted the moment.
It was a low sound, almost muffled, and it sounded like… crying?
The man let out a weary groan against Ilya’s mouth before pulling away. He sat on Ilya’s lap for a moment—his lips still red and moist from the kiss—and remained motionless, as if trying to confirm something. When the noise came again, he sighed, clearly frustrated, and got out of bed.
Ilya watched him disappear through the doorway, still trying to make sense of what was happening.
Was there a child there?
It took a few seconds for the idea to register in his aching head. Was that man a father? A single dad? Ilya tried to imagine someone walking out on a guy like that and simply couldn't. Honestly, it seemed like a crime.
With his mind still hazy from the hangover, he finally sat up in bed and ran a hand through his hair. That’s when he noticed another strange detail. His clothes weren't scattered around the room. In fact, they weren't even in sight. Instead, he was wearing soft pajamas that definitely didn't belong to him.
A shiver ran down his spine.
"What the fuck...?"
Ilya got out of bed and left the room, determined to find out where his things were. However, as soon as he entered the living room, his steps faltered.
The man was standing near the sofa, holding a child. The boy looked to be about two years old—chubby, with rosy cheeks—and was wearing blue pajamas covered in stars. Before Ilya could even take in the scene, the child spotted him.
The little one’s eyes lit up.
A huge smile spread across his face, and he immediately reached out his arms toward Ilya.
"Papa!"
Ilya froze.
His gaze swept across the room almost instinctively, and that was when he noticed the photographs.
There were frames scattered all over the house. Photos of them at the beach, hugging on the sofa, sleeping together, holding the child. In one, the three of them were covered in sand, smiling at the camera. In another, the man was kissing his cheek while the baby laughed in his lap.
Then he saw the wedding photo.
"Shane & Ilya, 2026"
His stomach sank.
In the picture, he looked a few years older. He was wearing an impeccable black suit and wore a serious expression, but the way he was looking at that man was impossible to ignore. There was affection, admiration, and something so intense it almost made him uncomfortable.
Before he had time to react, the man—whose name he now knew was Shane—simply placed the child in his arms.
The small, warm weight against his chest made his brain short-circuit. The boy settled in immediately, grabbing his T-shirt with familiarity and resting his head on his shoulder as if it were part of their routine.
"What do you want for breakfast?" Shane asked as he walked toward the kitchen.
"W... whatever you want to give me." Ilya kept staring at the child, who was watching him back with absolute calm.
"Ilya... are you okay?" Shane glanced his way.
"I..." He swallowed hard. "Yeah. Just a headache."
Shane kept watching him for a few seconds before sighing.
"Do you want me to leave Yuri with my mom today while I'm at work?"
Yuri.
The boy instantly buried his face in Ilya’s neck, hugging him tighter, as if the thought of separation were the worst thing in the world. Ilya remained motionless, unsure of what to say. He didn't even know how to look after a child, but it couldn't be that hard, right?
He had the feeling that if he were to part ways with the child, the boy would be devastated.
"No need. We're fine," he replied after a few moments, and Shane simply nodded.
The rest of the day passed with strange tranquility. Shane left right after breakfast, mentioning there was food for them in the freezer and gave him a quick kiss before heading out, telling him to call if he needed anything. Shane seemed wary, but Yuri—two years and nine months old—flatly refused to leave Ilya’s lap for more than a few seconds.
It was a relief to realize the child understood Russian; despite being extremely spoiled (something Ilya suspected was his own fault), the boy was generally obedient and ate everything put on his plate.
After lunch, they ended up sitting on the sofa watching cartoons.
The boy laughed and reacted excitedly to the colors and movement on the screen. At some point, Yuri fell asleep against his chest. Ilya looked down at the boy, watching the small fingers still clutching his shirt and the completely relaxed expression on his face.
The whole thing was absurd.
Had he transmigrated?
Had he perhaps traveled to the future?
Perhaps he was still dreaming. Yes. Probably.
He hadn’t realized he wanted a family before this. And if it was a dream, he hoped he wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.
Soon, drowsiness set in; his eyelids grew heavy as he tried every possible way to stay awake.
He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to return to his miserable reality of heavy drinking, with no one waiting for him at home. Even so, his eyes closed against his will—as if an invisible force were pressing down on him—and he drifted off to sleep on the sofa.
—
When he opened his eyes again, the world was not the same.
The ceiling was the same as in his student dorm—white, with faint stains in spots he knew by heart, illuminated by that same dim, impersonal light. Sunlight didn't stream through the window quite the way it used to, and his head ached, but it was nothing compared to the crushing pain of not waking up in the other reality.
Realization dawned slowly, like a tide rising unhurriedly, and Ilya let out a heavy sigh before he even moved.
He already knew. He was back.
"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," his roommate said from the doorway, his backpack already on. "You're going to be late."
The door slammed shut right after, leaving the room in silence.
Ilya lay there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling as if expecting something to change, but nothing did.
There was no Shane. No Yuri. No photos scattered around the house, nor that strange warmth of a life that had seemed to be his.
It was as if all of that had never existed.
He closed his eyes for a moment longer than he should have and felt a heaviness in his chest.
He wasn't exactly sad. It is just…. good things didn't last for him. They never did.
Perhaps he wasn't allowed to be happy.
Ilya got up mechanically, put on his uniform, and left the dorm without really paying attention to his reflection in the hallway mirror. On the way to school, everything moved at the usual pace: students walking in groups, teachers heading to class; no one seemed to notice that anything had changed.
The main hallway was crowded when he entered. The usual din of voices mingled with hurried footsteps and the sound of doors opening and closing. Ilya walked through it all as if slightly out of sync, observing without truly participating.
That was when he saw him.
The boy had his back turned, talking to someone else. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and there was something… familiar. Dark hair, cut somewhat short, falling casually across his forehead.
And then he turned around.
For a second, the sounds of the hallway seemed distant.
The air caught in Ilya's throat.
The person the boy was talking to smiled and kept walking, as if guiding him through the school, and the two of them headed his way in what felt like slow motion.
"Rozy, this is the transfer student," someone nearby said, breaking the suspended moment. "He’s joining the hockey team."
The boy looked him straight in the eye.
Beautiful brown eyes.
"Shane," he said, naturally extending a hand. "Shane Hollander."
And perhaps Ilya wasn't going crazy. Perhaps it hadn't been a dream, nor a cruel coincidence.
Perhaps it was simply inevitable.
Note: The inspiration came from the thought, "What if teenage Ilya woke up one day, saw his future family, and didn't know if he’d traveled to the future or was dreaming?" It was sweet to write. Thanks to @pikachusthef for improving my terrible English!
Max gets Mike dog ears and a collar for a halloween costume exchange and that's possibly the most embarrassing thing ever. But then Will seems to like it and maybe it's not so bad anymore.
Bark for me, baby by meowyster
Part two of Say Woof and god fuck I love it even more. Same premise, established byler and Mike is a bit shy about how much he misses the collar. Thank god their anniversary is coming up and Will has the perfect gift. (They're implied verse and the author said there might be part three coming where Will bottoms)
Relaxation 101 by meowyster
Not b!Mike but just Mike with an oral fixation and the only way he can destress is by sucking Will's dick, apparently. Wanted to add this cuz it still focuses on Mike and it's also soo well written.
I want you to destroy me so I'll feel better by sieladonna
Read the tags. Mike wakes up horny and full of his boyfriend's dick. He makes a terrible decision.
SuckerPunch by bylerific
Will wins a lifetime's supply of lollipops and his best friend just cannot stop staring at his mouth. He's done with Mike beating around the bush, so things escalade the moment Will decides to take matters into his own hands (or mouth). Verse/switch byler but mostly bottom/sub Mike.
From the inside by emotionalhyperbole
Author: I'm a big boy and the idea of skinny boy belly bulges turns me on.
Need I say more? lol
Byler sexy times series by lifeinecstasy
I needed to add the whole series cuz it's soo good. There's no proper summary besides that some are established Byler, there's a bit of femme Mike and also uhh (reads notes) a magic fleshlight??
Lord save me (my own heaven)
Mike sucks Will off in a music venue bathroom. He's conflicted the whole time, but has never wanted anything more in his life. Will comforts and praises him, and it's all so tender, my heart weeps.
Homecoming by tempereta
Mike shows up at Will's out of nowhere after leaving Hawkins and cutting contact for a year. But Will somehow always knew that he'd come back. Very gentle and very bittersweet.
Tamed by tempereta
Will finds a porno magazine by accident and when he shows it to Mike, he starts getting ideas. I loooooove soft dom Will and he's such a dork in this one.
Like a dog by cyclogenesis (addictedkitten)
When Will gets into NYU Mike impulsively applies too and gets accepted as well. And now they are roommates yay! nothing like a bit of casual alcoholism and unspoken words!! Drink every time Mike is compared to a dog.
The tattoo artist and the florist by velvetpug
Title says it all. Florist Mike moves to Philly to be closer to Will and suddenly he has an interest in getting tattooed by none other than his childhood best friend. Very plot heavy and this is such a good take on the trope. Inspired by @/kidovna 's art
#someone posted in r/fanfic asking why there aren't fics for blue avatar#and ppl had to gently be like 'because it's an empty spectacle of a movie. it's a shell.#it has no characters. there is nothing for us to work with.'(via @arrows-for-pens)
^^^^ It's a tech demo, not a movie. Also: the plot is SHOCKINGLY Similar to Fern Gully(1992), a much superior film antagonized by a surprisingly fuckable Evil Sludge Cloud u_u u_u
kianamaiart
2087
baratheonpilled
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