ik that i’m late, but this is my favorite picture that i took during raw on monday
june 23, 2025
styofa doing anything

★
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@buttercup0024
ik that i’m late, but this is my favorite picture that i took during raw on monday
june 23, 2025
Addiction
summary : rafe is willing to do anything to get his next fix
characters : male reader x rafe cameron
note : another work from ao3. i really gotta stop being lazy and lock in
warnings : bottom rafe, unprotected sex, various locations, marathon sex, submissive rafe, rough sex, dirty talk, idk what else
The best thing about an addict— they have no shame. And the best thing about having no shame as an addict? They have absolutely no problem being desperate.
Rafe Cameron was a player. A whore, if you will. Everyone knew that. He ran through almost every girl that was in his age group, fucking them a few times and leaving them for the next wet thing. And that only made him even hotter. Every girl would drop their panties for him, Kook or Pogue, if they had the opportunity to do so. That’s just came with being the most sought after guy on the island.
With that being his reality, getting his way often came easier for him than others. Girls would do anything to try and sleep with him. Guys would do anything to try and get in his inner circle— they secretly wanted to sleep with him as well. All Rafe had to do was snap his fingers, and someone, somewhere, would be at his beck and call. King of the Kooks he was. And King of the Kooks he would always be.
Yet you didn’t give a single fuck about that.
You couldn’t lie. The situation you found yourself in kind of did inflate your ego a bit. When Rafe came begging at your doorstep for anything you had to offer— hopefully an ounce of coke— you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. It was kind of— scratch that, it was absolutely fucking sad watching him itch and twitch and be in a constant state of irritation due to him having withdrawals. You never cared for any of your clients, but man. Poor Rafe. Just because you sold drugs as a living didn’t mean you were an evil guy.
Now while Barry would look out for the only person he considered a friend— besides you of course— you weren’t as giving. Business was business, and if Rafe wanted anything, even a second of your attention, it was going to cost some money. Yet for some reason, a Cameron of all people didn’t have any money on him. And since Rafe didn’t want to leave and go get some money, you opted for your next best form of payment. The look on his face was priceless when you told him what he’d have to do in order to get an ounce of cocaine.
But it was nothing compared to the face he was making now.
“Fuuuuccckk.”
Rafe’s mouth was temporarily stuck in an “O” shape as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes glazed over with tears as he sat in the paralyzing realization of his situation. If you would’ve told him that he would be lying on a drug dealer’s bed with his legs pinned by his head, panting like a bitch in heat as his manhood was stolen with every brutal thrust you delivered, he’d punch you in your face. However, desperation situations called for desperate measures. Plus, the feeling of your 7 inch dick stretching his asshole open more and more as you fucked him into your mattress was honestly a great way to distract him from his withdrawal symptoms.
Your brows were furrowed as you focused on keeping up the fast pace you were thrusting at. “I didn’t think you were such a whore, Cameron.” you grunted. Anger surged through Rafe at your words, wanting nothing more but to punch you. But then again, you weren’t exactly wrong. He had easily gave his body to you at the mere thought of getting his fixed. So he had no other reason but to swallow his pride and accept that you were right. “F-Fuck you.” he spat, gasping for air as the feeling of your dick stabbing against his prostrate made him throw his head back against your bed.
“Already fucking you.” You grinned.
Rafe moans bounced off your walls as he dug his nails into your hands, holding on to you for dear life. It was hard to keep his eyes fixed on, the painful pleasure of your dick making his eyes roll to the back of his head involuntarily here and there, but he managed. He watched as you bit your lip, eyes glued to where you were impaling his hole. You looked so sexy when you were focused. He wouldn’t ever say that out loud— he was straight after all— but he couldn’t help but allow the thought to consume his mind. The thought of how every vein and ridge of your dick dragged against his sensitive walls, making his body shiver ferociously as if he was stuck out in a blizzard. The thought of how your mushroom tip collided head on with the bundle of nerves located deep in his ass, turning his once moans of protest into moans of encouragement for more. “What’s my name, Rafe?”
Before Rafe could even think twice about stopping himself, the name slipped off of his tongue without hesitation. “D-Daddy!” You grinned like a kid. Rafe Cameron just called you daddy. Nobody was going to believe you, but you were surely going to tell your friends when you were done using him. “Good boy.”
You leaned forward, moving your hands from his ankles to his shoulders to get better leverage. The new position forced Rafe’s legs down further next to his head, his knees touching his ears with your body weight now pressing down on him. The burn of his hamstrings working overtime as his body was folded into an unnatural position for him only added onto the feeling of ecstasy he was high on. His legs being spread wide only opened his hole up for you even more, allowing you to weasel the last few inches of your dick into his hole. Rafe’s eyes widen as he screamed out in pain, his hands wrapping around your forearm and squeezing with all his strength. “J-Jesus Pogue! How big is your di— oh my God!” he whimpered as the feeling of something warm and wet shot up inside him.
You groaned as your hips faltered for just a bit, the feeling of your sudden orgasm taking you by surprise. “Shit!” Rafe’s hole was as tight as a vice. You didn’t think you’d ever get enough of feeling him around you. You made a mental note to make sure this happened again.
Once you gained your composure, it was back to the regular scheduled program. You fucked your cum deep into Rafe, pressing kisses to his lips as he just laid there and took everything you had to give him. His eyes were glued to the ceiling of your room, vision blurred with tears as he simply reflected on every decision he made that led to this. How did he end up here? With his khaki pants and Ralph Lauren underwear pulled down just enough to expose his once virgin hole, being gaped open by the dick of a Pogue that sold drugs. He was moaning without any inhibitions, eagerly anticipating every kiss you gave him and still desperate for more. If he could see himself from your perspective, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself. All his life he had been the one doing the fucking, his ego inflating with every random girl he fucked stupid and left behind once he got his nut. Now look at him— being the one fucked stupid, his body betraying his mind and begging for more and more. He just hoped that you wouldn’t just leave him to dream of your dick forever after you were done nutting inside him.
As if you would ever be that stupid.
You had fucked Rafe Cameron into a cock hungry slut. Once you finished the first round, you had expected him to leave once you tossed a bag of coke for him to fetch off of your bedroom floor. Yet, Rafe didn’t move an inch to get the drugs, simply rolling onto his stomach and falling into a much needed slumber after you fucked his brains out. He looked cute when he slept. You were going to leave it at the round one— for now at least— but you never claimed to be a man with self control. When you came back into your room a few minutes later after cleaning your dick off, the sight of his perky ass sticking up in the air only riled you back up.
Rafe woke up moaning and gripping your sheets as you fucked him into the mattress. His aching dick rubbed against the sheets with every thrust, the friction causing his whole body to tense up as an orgasm approached. Him tensing up only made you moan yourself, as you tried not to cum too early with his hole gripping your dick with no mercy. No luck with that. You let another load loose into his hole as Rafe lifted his hips up to meet your thrusts as he reached his own orgasm himself.
Round 3 happened right after. You picked him up and bounced him up and down on your dick, the sound of his ass and thighs slamming against your hips echoing throughout the house. Barry had came into your room and told you to cut out the loud noise since he had his own little sexscapade going on. You didn’t even when he got home, but you didn’t care. You hadn’t even stopped lifting Rafe’s body up and down when Barry came into your room. Rafe wanted to be embarrassed by the idea of someone else seeing him be tossed around like a ragdoll, with a dick nestled deep within his ass as he audibly begged for more with no shame. He’d worried about that later though.
You guys were more considerate with round 4. Rafe held onto your thighs as he bounced up and down on your dick, head towards the floor to allow you to play your video game. By now he had got rid of his khaki pants and shoes, only in his tighty whities that had a hole ripped in the ass part to allow easy access. Not that they were needed— the front had been stained with at least 4 loads that had now dried and created a sticky, uncomfortable mess that Rafe would have to deal with later on.
Round 5 was on the same living room coach as you fucked Rafe doggystyle. His body hair had now began to collect a musk that filled your nose, and that plus the view of his ass jiggling with each thrust caused you to cum earlier than you wanted to. You made up for that with round 6, in the same position on the same couch, only lasting 4 full minutes. In which Rafe moaned loudly, begging for more and praising your entire existence the whole time. Not that you tried to stop him at all. You just felt bad for Barry and whatever girl he had brought over.
Hours, and plenty rounds, went by and Rafe had accepted that he would just stay the night at your place. You had to start giving yourself some longer breaks because after round 8, you had began to start shooting blanks and that was not benefiting anyone. All the while, Rafe nursed himself on your soft dick, cleaning any leftover fluids on your dick that you had concocted using Rafe’s gaping hole.
By time you guys finished at 1 in the morning, you had gone 13 rounds. Your body was sore as hell, and you had no idea how you were still standing. You always had a high libido, what teenage boy didn’t? Still, You didn’t think it was that high. You could only imagine how Rafe felt. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, in fact, from the dopey smile on his face as he laid comfortably on your chest as the two of you settled in your bed, you would assume that he had the time of his life today. You did too.
It didn’t take long for the two of you to fall asleep after the day that you guys had. All while you allowed your soft dick to rest inside Rafe’s hole, making him feel whole as he drifted off into a deep sleep that was much needed. Before he drifted off, he had caught sight of the bag of coke that still laid on your bedroom floor besides your bed. He had forgot that he had came over here for that originally— only to be taken advantage of and used by you for 7 hours. His body had no longer craved the high that came with doing cocaine, only wanting to be fucked by you and feel you dump another load into his inviting hole that had molded itself to be a perfect fit for you. He had no idea how he was going to move forward with this in the outside world, now having no interest in keeping his reputation as a womanizer anymore, but he did know one thing.
He had found his new addiction— and he knew for a fact that he would never get enough of you.
But he could surely try.
Evan Buckley x male reader
Instagram au | 📌 | Masterlist | Fake media
Request | tag: @cookstorys | reader is eddies brother
evanbuckley
liked by yndiaz and others
evanbuckley when life gives you lemons, go on a hike with your boyfriend!
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yndiaz 👀
evanbuckley 😚
henwilson does this also includes wifes?
eddiediaz well yes!
yndiaz
liked by eddiediaz and evanbuckley
yndiaz knitted him a sweater
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athenagrant he definitely loves it😂
eddiediaz when i ask you to make me one u say no
evanbuckley 😏
carlaprice looks good!
evanbuckley
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evanbuckley just a normal training
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yndiaz i always miss these ugh🙄
eddiediaz i do not like this angle of me
maygrant help, who took this picture 😭
yndiaz that’s what i’m asking likeeee😭
maddiehan 😂😂
henwilson definitely weren’t forced in the pool
yndiaz
liked by evanbuckley, eddiediaz and others
yndiaz finally 21
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evanbuckley happy birthday baby❤️
eddiediaz yessssirrr 🥳🙌
maddiehan yayyy can’t wait for tonight🥳
bobbynash big day!
maygrant see you tonight!
eddiediaz
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eddiediaz we are not hungover ☺️
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yndiaz do you remember anything?
eddiediaz uhmm… yes!
yndiaz right….
evanbuckley my suit😔😂
maygrant lmfao
chimneyhan was fun!
evanbuckley
liked by eddiediaz and others
evanbuckley when life gives u lemons, say yes to your fiancé proposing 💍
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yndiaz what’s it with u and lemons babe
evanbuckley they are good for u
eddiediaz OMG
maygrant WHAT
maddiehan BUCK WHAT THE HELL
henwilson HE PROPOSED?
yndiazbuckley
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yndiazbuckley new name who disss?
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eddiediaz omg when u calling mom
yndiazbuckley soon trust🙄
evandiazbuckley easiest yes
henwilson wish you guys the best
maygrant cuties!
athenagrant amen!
| EVAN BUCKLEY × MALE READER |
fandom - 911 tv show
prompt - challenge , "you think you're better than me?"
contains - reader likes to ragebait buck out of love, buck thinks reader is taunting him , oblivious buck , angst , miscommunication trope , buck kinda becomes an asshole for a moment but he will fix it!
missed writing for him ♡
𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠
𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : You Had just woken up, seeing Scott laying there on his stomach just did something to you. You couldn't resist the urge that hit you—wanting to start the day waking him in the most intimate way possible. | drabble + porn without plot
𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Male!Reader, Fluff, Sub!Scott Moaning, Praising, ass eating, oral, Scott (receiving), swearing, Explicit Content, Cum, Dirty Talk.
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭
You stirred awake beside Scott, his body sprawled out on his stomach, the sheets tangled around his waist. His broad back rose and fell with each steady breath, his dark hair against the pillow. The sight of him like this—stirred something primal in you. You couldn't resist the urge to wake him in the best way possible. Sliding down the bed quietly, you positioned yourself behind him. Your hands gently gripped his hips, pulling the sheet lower to expose the firm curves of his ass. Scott mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, shifting slightly but not waking. You leaned in, your breath warm against his skin, and pressed a soft kiss to one cheek before parting them with your thumbs.
Scott let out a low groan, still half-asleep, his hips twitching upward. You started slow, your tongue flicking out to trace the rim. The taste of him filled your senses as you licked a long. You lapped at him hungrily, the wet sounds of your mouth working against his ass echoing softly in the quiet room. "Fuck... what..." Scott mumbled, his voice rasped with sleep, eyes fluttering open. He lifted his head slightly, looking down at you between his legs. A lazy grin spread across his face as realization dawned. "Morning to you too, babe. Starting the day right, huh?" You hummed against him, the vibration making him shudder.
You didn't stop, your hands kneading the muscles of his thighs as you thrust your tongue in and out, fucking his hole with it. Saliva dripped down, slicking his crack, and you added a finger to tease alongside your licks, pressing just the tip inside to stretch him open. Scott's breaths came faster now, his face buried back into the pillow as he moaned. “Oh shit, right there... yeah, eat my ass like that. Don't fuckin' stop.” His cock hardened beneath him, trapped against the mattress, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You sucked gently on the rim before plunging your tongue back in, swirling it to hit every sensitive spot. Scott arched his back, pushing himself onto you, his voice breaking into a growl. “God, your mouth feels so good. Deeper—fuck, make me cum just from this.”
His body trembled, muscles clenching around your probing tongue as you worked him relentlessly, determined to push him over the edge. "Oh fuck, yes—right there," he growled, arching off the bed. "I'm close... don't you dare stop." His words dissolved into a guttural moan as his orgasm hit, cock pulsing untouched, spurting ropes of cum across the sheets. His hole twitched around your tongue, drawing out the pleasure until he collapsed back, chest heaving. You licked him clean with gentle swipes, savoring the aftershocks that made him twitch. Finally, you crawled up beside him, pressing a kiss to his lips. Scott tasted himself on your mouth and pulled you closer, murmuring, "Best fucking wake-up call ever."
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~ @starboye @boypied @mysterymachine67 @magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac
© 𝐃𝐪𝐫𝐤𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔
k.01 restraints
pairing → roman reigns x gender neutral!reader word count → 1.8k warnings -> dom!reader, sub!roman, metal bondage, brat taming, subspace notes → based on this ask on mother’s blog @lov3rla03 and this idea from anon! kinktober masterlist. general masterlist. taglist.
k.24 crazy ex
pairing → roman reigns x seth rollins word count → 5.9k warnings → stalking, breaking and entering, possessive behavior, dubious consent, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, destruction of property (seth destroys roman’s house and blows up his car) kinktober masterlist. general masterlist. taglist.
k.07 breathplay
pairing → jey uso x gunther word count → 2.6k warnings → dom/sub, deepthroating, degradation, humiliation, violence, loss of consciousness, no aftercare (gunther is very cruel) notes → saw this from the incredible blog of @sapphicsamizayn and was inspired! kinktober masterlist. general masterlist. taglist.
starring: mickey milcovich x male reader
request: List of Headcanons of Mickey Milkovich as an overprotective older brother (he is only two minutes older) and knows how to take care of him very well, but when he was younger he spent a few days in the hospital.
warnings: fluff, mentions of getting hospitalized, mentions of beating someone up, smoking, drinking
overprotective!mickey who acts like he's the boss of you since he's older but by only two minutes but he takes those minutes and runs with it
overprotective!mickey who judges all the guys you have come over and fuck you, calling you a skank but you know he doesn't really mean it
overprotective!mickey who was the first to know that you were gay (i guess gay sees gay am i right) and told you it was okay and that he still loved you
overprotective!mickey who told you he was gay while you were both smoking outside and you told him you already knew, which came as a surprise to him
overprotective!mickey who watches you like a hawk to make sure you don't get into any trouble with the law or some random cunt
overprotective!mickey who defends you from terry when he starts ranting about you being gay, mickey ushering you to your room before he's yelling at terry for being an insensitive fucker
overprotective!mickey who's always scoping out the men you date and/or have over to make sure they're good enough for you and not some incompetent shitheads
overprotective!mickey who solves any problems anyone has with you, whether that be illegal or legal he's making sure no one fucks with his sibling
overprotective!mickey who was the first to introduce you to ian, mainly because you barged in after mickey thought you would be out all day.
overprotective!mickey who asked you to be his best man for his wedding and after a little teasing you agreed
overprotective!mickey who's love for you came after you were injured by some bullies and sent to the hospital for a couple of days, he stayed by your side the whole time
overprotective!mickey who once you were safe at home took no hesitation in finding the bullies and beating the hell out of them, leaving them bloody and bruised
overprotective!mickey who's cared for you since youth, making sure you always had something to eat and clothes when terry was to drunk or shitty to take care of you both
taglist:@mailmango@spermeboy@ghostking4m@gayaristocrat@addictedtomalepits@staarb0y@crispysoup318@its-ares@gargoylesworld09@kadenvatsune@fuckshft
hello helloo
there's literally no ian x male reader in here so let me request something for him rq :]
I saw this prompts on pinterest earlier and i thought they would fit ian so i was wondering if you could do smth with them
"Please don't cry, i can't stand seeing you cry"
"Just talk to me."
"Don't pretend you're okay because i know you're not"
bye byee!
tears are in your eyes
A/N - can i just say thank u to this anon for getting me back into the writing spirit frrrrr
this request was exactly what i needed bc i LOVE ian gallagher i literally dream about him
plssss let me know who u are anon bc ur right the lack of male reader ian fics is madness 🙏🙏
summary: you love Ian, but he's sick. and he loves you, but you're crying.
it all started in the morning.
you came round the Gallagher house at 11, looking for Ian. he hadn't taken your calls all morning, it wasn't like you were worried or anything. maybe a little. but worrying about Ian felt like more of a constant feeling recently. when you got there, Fiona was the only person around and she told you to check upstairs, saying she hadn't seen him since she's been up.
when you went up there, Ian was laying in bed, wrapped up in covers. you smile to yourself. he's an angel, he is, and you always think this. even just from the back of his head when he's half asleep. you love him.
"heya," you call to him, "you still asleep?", you shake his shoulder gently and he shrugs you away. you furrow your brow and sit on the edge of the bed.
"c'mon," you ruffle the back of his hair and he groans, pulling the covers further up his face.
" 'm just...'m tired," he mumbles, you shift yourself closer to him, your hand on his arm,
"hey, Ian, you gotta get up. it's past 11." you stroke his arm gently,
"just...just- leave me alone." his tone is harsh and it stings. you remind yourself he doesn't really mean it.
"Ian, c'mon, what's wrong?" you ask and he doesn't reply. the room is silent and uncomfortable, but your hand stays on his arm. you love him.
"just talk to me." you're almost begging now, and he grunts in response.
and that's how it's been all day. it's 4 PM now, and Ian's barely moved. you've stayed next to him the whole time. your hand has moved from his hair, to his hands, to his arm. you've spoken to him softly, you've shouted. he's only replied in grunts or mumbled words, or just stayed silent.
it's hard, to see him like this. but you can't leave him, not like this. you love him.
it's 5 PM and nothings changed. you're lying behind Ian, arms wrapped around him, holding tight. he's holding your hands, loosely, but he is.
"Ian-" you start, whispering right next to his ear,
"no- no, don't," he stops you, "i'm fine- it's fine, i'm just...i'm tired." his voice is barely a whisper, and you hold him tighter.
you pause. there's a depressive intimacy happening, that you don't want to break.
"don't pretend you're okay because i know you're not." you wait for his reply. it never comes. you kiss his cheek and try to hold back tears. you love him
"he's still not up?" Fiona's in the doorway, holding two plates. she looks at you sympathetically, she knows how it feels.
"uh, no." you pull yourself away from Ian, he doesn't try and and hold you there. you sit up, taking the plates from Fiona. "thanks." you say, out of politeness, because you know you both won't eat.
"y'know you don't need to stay here, i can take care of-" she doesn't get to finish before you interrupt her,
"no. i'll stay. i'm staying with him." Fiona tries to smile at you, but she knows, more than anyone, you're just fighting a losing battle.
"right, well, uh, try eat something. get him to eat something." you smile at her as she leaves the room. moving the plates to the floor, you lay back in the bed, staring at the ceiling.
7 PM now, and Ian is laying on his back, looking up. it's the most he's moved all day. you're sat up next to him, staring down at your hands. you pick at your nails.
you're thinking about Ian, who's right next to you but not really there. you think about how the top of his head smells. and his voice in the morning. his arms when he holds you. his smile and his laugh and how his jaw hardens when he's angry. and most of all, you think of how you love him even when he feels like nothing. when it's as if he's just air. you love him.
and then you start to cry. it's slow at first. tears that trickle from your cheeks and land on your shirt. then you can't stop. you rub your eyes harshly to punish them, because you don't want to upset Ian. the tears don't stop, they can't stop. Ian looks at you, his blank face showing concern. and it isn't that he doesn't care, because he does. he's kicking himself seeing you cry. but he just can't. not right now.
"please- don't cry. y'know, i, uh, can't stand seeing you cry." he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. you look at him, face twisted in emotion, your hands in your lap. he reaches out and takes them, kissing them. and you can't help but smile so wide you wouldn't believe it was because of something so small. he pulls you down into a hug, holding you to his chest.
"i love you." he whispers, breathing you in deeply, his nose pressed to your neck.
this time you don't say anything, you just smile. and it's not a lot, but it's perfect.
and you love him.
A/N: the day i stop writing shameless angst is the day i die - stay tuned for many fluff posts from now onnnn (title is inspired by the yo la tengo song ofc)
"Not Left Behind"
Title: “Not Left Behind”: Shameless fanfiction
Pairing: Mickey and Ian x Reader Male
Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Angst with Fluff
Warnings: mentions of emotional trauma, abandonment, past poly relationship failure.
Summary: Haunted by past heartbreak, the reader fears being left out—until Ian and Mickey remind him he's truly part of their love.
You heard them laughing from the other room earlier. The kind of laugh that’s inside-jokey and full of old history you weren’t there for. The kind that tightens your chest, even though you know better.
You’re not mad at them. Not really. Just… afraid.
"Hey."
You flinch. You didn’t hear Ian come in. He steps quietly sometimes—something left over from the old Gallagher house.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
You give the same answer you always do.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
He walks over, leans against the counter, watching you scrub the already-clean glass. His voice is gentle. “You think a lot when you’re scared.”
You freeze.
Ian doesn’t mean it cruelly. He never does. But it still feels like he read a line you hadn’t meant to say out loud.
“I’m not scared,” you mutter, too defensively.
“Babe…” Ian sighs and takes the glass from your hands, setting it down. His fingers linger around yours. “You are. And it’s okay.”
The words unlock something, and suddenly, you feel it—this twisting in your stomach, this tightness in your throat.
You step back. “I shouldn’t have moved in.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” you insist, trying not to choke on it. “You and Mickey—you’ve been through hell together. You have all this history. You make sense. And I’m just… extra.”
“You’re not.”
You scoff. “I was, before. In my last relationship, I was the filler. We were three, then two, then one. Me. Left. And I told myself I wouldn’t do this again—wouldn’t be the third wheel on a tricycle built for two.”
Ian doesn’t try to interrupt. He just lets you spill.
“I love you both. I want this. But I can’t keep wondering if I’ll be the one who gets dropped again when things get hard.”
Suddenly, there’s a voice behind you.
“That’s not how we work.”
You spin to see Mickey in the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable but eyes soft. He walks in, slower than usual. Deliberate.
“You think I’d let anyone in here if I didn’t mean it?” Mickey asks. “If we didn’t talk about it? Fight about it? Figure out what the hell it meant?”
You say nothing, afraid if you open your mouth again, you’ll just fall apart.
Mickey steps in close and grips your shoulder, grounding. “I don’t do this shit half-assed. Ian neither. You’re not a guest. You’re not a maybe. You’re part of this.”
Ian puts a hand on your other shoulder, his presence anchoring you like gravity. “You think we don’t see how hard you’re trying? You think we don’t notice the way you hold your breath every time we kiss in front of you, like you’re waiting to be forgotten?”
You swallow hard.
Mickey speaks again, quiet but steady. “We chose you. We keep choosing you. Every day.”
And just like that, your knees buckle a little.
Ian’s arms catch you before you fall, and Mickey’s right there, wrapping his arms around you tight, like you’re something worth protecting. They hold you like they’re not afraid of your pain—like they’ve got room for it.
You bury your face in Ian’s shoulder and let yourself cry—really cry—for the first time in months.
No one tells you it’s okay. They don’t need to.
You’re safe here.
And maybe, for the first time, you believe it.
My main masterlist
Shameless - masterlist
Ich habe eninen... Deutschen?
IAN GALLAGHER X GERMAN! MALE READER
Summary: Ian Gallagher's not-so-new foreign boyfriend is a much needed change of scenery.
Content Warning(s): None :)
Other Pairings: German! Male Reader x Older Brother, German! Male Reader x Gallagher Family
AUTHOR NOTE(S):
Request by @hpxmcusworld !
hpxmcusworld asked:
Hiii! I hope your doing well! Sense you said you where doing requests for Ian Gallagher I was hoping to request one with Ian x male reader? The reader was born and raised in Germany and he and his older brother who raised him moved here, the reader (has a strong accent) and is always so confused with the stuff that happens, like why arnt the taxes included in the price? Or why is there different names for meet like pork and beef Instead if just saying cow meat or pig meat? Stuff like that and the reader everything him and Ian go out is always grilling Ian on his questions cause he doesn’t understand how it works. and Ian interduces him to his family and frank likes the reader which suprises everyone. You can make up the ending if you’d like.
Thank you I hope you have a a good day!
Hopefully this is close to what you were looking for! Thanks for the request :)
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When you first entered the night scene of America you did not expect to find any major differences from the clubs back in Germany. And, well, you didn’t.
Except for your acute onset illness of attraction towards pale, red-headed white men of course.
Ian Gallagher was what you liked to describe as a Chicago breeze. Cold, harsh, and utterly chilling. The first time you told him this, on the shabby floor of the apartment you and your elder brother managed to acquire. Situated in front of a small TV playing Alien VS Predator, he’d looked at you as though you were the alien and he was the vessel you wished to lay your slimy egg in. You did not quite understand his offense though you suspected it had something to do with the way you said the already harsh sounding words. That and the two of you were only 3 months into your impromptu dating stage and you did not shy away from laying it on thick.
“Geeze.” Was the first word he managed out of his thin, pink lips before his eyes averted to the scene he’d lost track of in the midst of the warm laughter and soft kisses the two of you shared.
“What?” You’d responded back to him, shifting the covers off your shoulders, forehead puckering in confusion.
“That’s what you think of me?” He looked at you with a slight laugh.
“Yes,” you said, clipped and certain. “I do not understand.” You shook your head, a frown forming on your face.
Ian turns in his leaned position against the wall to get a better look at you. His brows too, are furrowed, and his eyes are scanning your face as though he may suddenly find the missing puzzle piece.
“That’s… mean.” He started, almost amused with his own explanation.
“Mean?” You echo, sitting up slightly.
“Yes.” Ian insists. “You said I’m cold and harsh.”
“Yes.” You too, insist. “I like it.” You nodded once in firm approval.
The furrow in Ian’s brow only seems to grow and the slight grin on his face falls as though he may never understand you.
It became a habit, this confusion between the two of you.
So much so that the two of you now had a long standing disagreement. Pity in nature yet, ever present in each respective heart.
“Why is the price not the real price?” You’d asked, receipt clutched in both your hands as you stared intently at the printed American currency. Your accent is a heavy, clunky thing that makes all your words seem important and serious and Ian, after many trials, has simply found himself undeterred by the sound.
The red-head accompanying you with a long arm slung around your shoulders blinked in confusion before realization dawned on his face. “Taxes,” Ian says simply, barely blinking at the receipt.
“Yes. I know.” You frown, smashing the paper pitifully in your left hand. “Why is it not… all inclusive? You do it in Germany. Everyone does it in Germany.” Your head is tilted at an angle as you peer at the bright red strawberry before you. “They trick you.”
“It’s not a trick.” He chuckles. “It’s just how we do it here.”
“Your way of doing is stupid. Stupid American.” You shake your head as though you are seriously distraught.
Ian shoots you a look. “So is saying cow meat instead of beef.”
“What does it matter? It is a cow. Why not just call it a cow? You do this with pig meat too. Pork. It makes no sense.”
“It’s to differentiate between the animal and the meat product.” Ian retorts matter-of-factually.
“It’s the same.” You tell him as you dig into your jacket pocket in search of the keys. “You are eating a cow. You say, ‘I am eating cow.’ It’s easy. You Americans like to make things… complicated.”
Ian laughs at this, pulling you into a quick kiss. “You’re such a weirdo.”
“You are so American.” You look at him with a judgment in your face that rivals that of his own disgust towards sexual intimacy with women.
The two of you pause as you reach the back end of you and your brother's shared vehicle.
“You love this American.” He boasts, puffing his chest slightly as he attempts to smother you with a kiss.
You lean back dramatically, your hands coming to press against his hard pecs. “No. You are loud, and impatient, and you eat too big of portion.”
Ian’s face scrunches in confusion.
“You are like… a big dumb puppy.” You say, still leaning away.
“Dumb puppy?” He repeats, face still twisted.
“Yes. Loud, and dumb, but you have a very nice smile.”
He grins at this and you feel a small, unexplainable pull in your chest as you press your lips against his.
It’s an accident really, that you’re forced to meet the Gallagher clan. Your brother has left for a “business trip” (which you assume to be a trip to get laid), leaving you all alone to fend for yourself. A task Ian does not find difficult and finds it even more absurd that you do find it difficult. Considering you're 21 years of age and that you were not, in fact, an infant.
The two of you are on the new found couch, some odd, action packed movie playing quietly in the background as you straddle Ian’s lap. His hands are resting on the small of your back, your head is thrown back in a blissful laugh at a joke he’s made that you don’t quite understand. The warmth radiating from him is a comfort, the scent of cheap laundry detergent and cologne. Everything about him is just that.
The lively conversing is broken by the sharp, shrill ring of Ian’s phone. He groans, pressing his forehead against your collarbone. “Ignore it.”
“It could be important.” You respond softly, running your fingers through the short strands of his hair.
“It won’t be.” He insists, lips brushing against your neck.
“Ian.” You warn, though it’s half-hearted.
He sighs in defeat, shifting you just enough to reach the buzzing device. He frowns as he reads the caller ID before accepting the call.
“What?”
You can’t make out the words from the other end, but Ian’s expression grows tense. “No, I can’t. I’m busy.” Another pause. “I know, but I can’t. Just have someone else do it.” His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking. “Fine. But only for a little while. I’m bringing someone.”
He hangs up, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He sighs, looking up at you. “Family emergency. I have to go home for a bit.”
“Okay.” You say simply, moving to get off his lap.
“No, you’re coming with me.” He says, pulling you back down.
“Oh. No. That is okay.” You shake your head quickly. “I will stay here. Your family… they will not want me there. In a crisis.”
“They won’t mind. And I’m not leaving you here alone.” He insists, already pulling you up with him. “Come on. It’ll be an adventure.”
The Gallagher household is not what you expected. It’s loud, chaotic, and smells vaguely of stale beer and something you can’t quite place. The moment you step inside, a small boy with a missing tooth rushes past you, out the door, followed closely by a girl who looks strikingly similar to Ian.
“Ian!” She yells, skidding to a halt. “Who’s this?”
“This is my boyfriend,” Ian says, and the words send a shock through you. You’ve never heard him say it so bluntly before. “This is Debbie. Deb, this is Y/N.”
Debbie eyes you up and down, a small smile on her face. “Cool. The rest are in the kitchen.” She gestures towards the back of the house before disappearing up the stairs.
Ian leads you into the kitchen, where the chaos seems to be centered. A man with a scruffy beard and a beer in hand is arguing with a dark-haired woman who looks exhausted. A younger boy is sitting at the table, methodically eating a bowl of cereal despite the commotion.
“Where the hell have you been?” The woman, who you assume is the Fiona you have heard of, asks Ian.
“I was busy. What’s the emergency?” Ian asks, pulling you closer to his side.
“Liam ate a whole bottle of vitamins.” Fiona says, exasperated.
“Is he okay?” Ian asks, eyes widening.
“He’s fine. I just needed someone to take care of things here while I took him to the clinic. Lips a no show and Frank won’t fuckin’ leave.” Fiona explains, finally turning her attention to you. “Who’s this?”
“This is Y/N. My boyfriend.” Ian repeats, and the word feels more natural this time.
“Boyfriend?” The scruffy man at the counter perks up, turning to get a good look at you. “Well, well, well. Ian’s got himself a foreign boy. I like it.”
This surprises you. Your brother had warned you about American fathers, about how they were often strict and disapproving. But this man, the suggested father, seems delighted.
The rest of the family seems to share this same sentiment, their heads on swivels for a moment as they all look at the man.
“Frank,” Fiona warns, but he ignores her.
“So, Y/N, what brings you to our fine country?” Frank asks, taking a swig of his beer.
“My brother. He got a job here.” You explain, your voice unfamiliar to the room.
“What kind of work does your brother do?” Frank asks, leaning in.
“He is… a chef.” You say, translating the word in your head.
“A chef!” Frank exclaims, clapping his hands together. “I like a man who can cook. Can you cook?”
“Some things.” You admit. “But I am not… as good as he is.”
“Well, you’re dating a Gallagher, so you must have good taste.” Frank winks, and you feel a strange sense of validation. You look at Ian, who looks just as surprised as you are.
“Frank, leave him alone.” Fiona says, though there’s no real heat in her voice.
“Just trying to get to know my son’s new beau.” Frank says, holding his hands up in surrender.
The younger boy at the table finishes his cereal and gets up, rinsing the bowl in the sink. He gives you a quick nod before disappearing into the living room.
“So, Y/N,” Fiona says, turning to you with a tired smile. “Welcome to the madhouse. Don’t mind Frank. He’s… Frank.”
“It is okay.” You say, a small smile on your face. “It is very… lively.”
“That’s one word for it.” She says, before her phone buzzes. “Shit, that’s the clinic. I gotta go. Ian, you’re in charge of dinner.”
“Fi, no.” Ian protests, but she’s already out the door, grabbing her keys and Liam on the way.
The door slams shut, leaving you, Ian, and Frank in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.
“Well, I guess it’s just us.” Ian says, looking around the kitchen as though he’s never seen it before.
“I can help with dinner.” You offer. “What do you usually eat?”
“Usually whatever’s cheapest.” Ian admits, a slight blush on his cheeks. “But tonight, we can have something a little better. As a celebration.”
“Celebration for what?” You ask, intrigued.
“For you.” He says, pulling you into a quick kiss. “For surviving your first Gallagher family crisis.”
The kiss is short and sweet, but it’s enough to make your heart race. You’re about to respond when Frank clears his throat.
“So, you two gonna make out all night, or are we gonna eat?” He asks, a smirk on his face.
You and Ian break apart, red tinted.
“Right. Dinner.” Ian says, moving towards the fridge. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
The two of you rummage through the fridge, pulling out various ingredients. Frank watches, offering unhelpful commentary every now and then.
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Bonus scene
Your older brother, the one who had raised you almost entirely on his own, was just as German as you were. Maybe more.
He sat at the dining room table when Ian walked in, a bagel in front of him, a knife clenched in hand, and a frown on his face. He didn’t look impressed.
“This is Ian.” You introduced, watching as your brother gave him a quick, dismissive glance before going back to his bagel. You could feel your shoulders tense, but Ian seemed unbothered.
“Nice to meet you.” Ian said, extending a hand, a smile plastered on his face that could rival the sun.
Your brother ignored it. “Are you the one who has been teaching him these strange, English words?”
Ian’s smile dropped, but only slightly. “I guess so.”
“Then I do not like you.”
Your face began to burn, a hot shame creeping up your neck, but Ian’s smile came back, full and genuine.
“I get that a lot.”
“I do not know why he likes you. You have weird hair.” Your brother stated before shoving the bagel into his mouth.
“Hey!” You protest. “I like your hair. My hair is weird, too.”
“Yeah,” Your brother says, looking at Ian’s hair. “His is weirder.”
That seemed to be the end of the conversation as your brother stood up and discarded the knife into the sink. Ian was left standing there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Well that could have gone worse.”
Hello! I was wondering if you could do Shane x Older male reader(maybe by like 5 years). M!reader had a career ending injury and is now helping with coaching the Metros. We all know Shane is a bit of a control freak but with m!reader he can relax and just be the pillow princess he is. Top male reader and cockwarming that hopefully leads to more please!
Bottom Shane Hollander x top male reader
⚠️Warnings!— Intimate sex, reassurance, begging, creampie, dominant-ish reader. And more!⚠️
I keep thinking about Ilya's first time bottoming with m!reader + hollanov threesome. Both at them at the same damn time,,,
Gator, ever heard of a two-person blowjob?
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov x male reader
Headcanons
Reader is a hockey player too, and this takes place post Long Game, so if you don’t want spoilers, don’t read. it's not like detailed or anything, but theres still spoilers. Only cuz I wanna rail both of them in the locker room.
I felt inspired writing this, for the first time in a long time. the power of Hollanov.
punishment time | ilya rozanov + shane hollander + male reader
request by @obsidianblood Could you please do a heated rivalry smut threesome between Shane Hollander, lIya Rozanov and male reader. Shane is a switch, the reader is a bottom and Rozanov is a top. Shane and Reader have a match against Rozanov. Just before the match one of Rozanov's team mates flirt with reader, Shane saw this happen outside the team dressing room. And Rozanov saw this happen just before the game. Neither Shane nor Rozanov could keep their anger in check, so at half time they both decided to give the reader a long rough lesson.
Part 2? Maybe, maybe
It was just before the game started.
“What the fuck?” Rozanov muttered, staring at the scene in front of him. His stupid teammate was flirting with you, and you were laughing too. Rozanov felt anger and jealousy rising inside him. He felt a tingling sensation and turned his head slightly to the left. Hollander was watching the scene just as angrily. Their eyes met, and one thing was clear to both of them: you wouldn’t get away with it so easily.
Later in the game, Rozanov could barely control his anger and burning jealousy. He glared at his teammates and deliberately skated between you and his teammate whenever he could. Hollander felt the same way. He watched you closely out of the corner of his eye and used his captain’s voice to keep you as far away from that guy as possible.
Finally, it was halftime. Rozanov casually grabbed his phone and texted Hollander where to meet you. He slipped out of the locker room and disappeared into a storage room. It didn’t take long before he heard your voices.
“Shane, what’s going on?” you asked nervously, but you got no answer. Shane grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the storage room. He slammed the door behind you, making you flinch. “Ilya?” you murmured, confused, but you couldn’t say more because Rozanov grabbed your face with his large hands and squeezed.
“Did you really think you could just flirt with my teammate without consequences?” Rozanov growled, and your eyes widened. Oh shit, this was really bad.
“Okay, listen. It didn’t mean anything. It was just fun.” You couldn’t finish, because Rozanov pushed you down onto your knees.
“Just fun? Hollander and I will show you what fun is,” Rozanov said and took his hard cock out of his pants. You whimpered and bit your lip. You looked at Shane, who was watching you with a hungry expression.
“Suck,” Rozanov ordered. You obeyed immediately and heard him mutter good boy. Blowjobs with Ilya had always been your favorite thing. You glanced up at him, tears gathering in your eyes, and he threw his head back against the wall with a loud moan.
You blew Rozanov for a while, feeling that he was close, and tried a little harder. You ran your tongue over his tip, and with a grunt, he came on your face. Suddenly, Shane grabbed you by the neck and dragged you away from Ilya. “My turn,” Shane said darkly, pushing his cock between your lips.
You moaned and sucked him with the same passion. Rozanov watched you both hungrily and glanced at the clock on the wall. You didn’t have much time left, but Shane was already so worked up that it didn’t take long before he came with a loud moan in your mouth.
You coughed a little and leaned away from Shane. You were still hard, and your knees were starting to hurt. You watched them pull their pants back up. You were about to say something when Ilya slapped your cheek.
“Bad boys don’t get to come,” he said with a nasty grin. You looked from Ilya to Shane, hoping your puppy eyes would help, but no luck. Shane gently stroked your cheek. “Sorry, but Ilya is right.” He didn’t look sorry at all, he was grinning. That asshole.
The two hockey players walked out of the room without looking back. You looked down and noticed how hard you still were. You bit your lip, and a thought formed in your mind: they’ll get this back twice as bad.
ermmmmm, shane hollander x reader pwease >,<
After the Game
Pairing:Shane Hollander x Reader
Word Count: 1802
Request open!
Ilya Rozanov Playlist
Ilya Rozanov Imagines ( I’ve added all my Ilya fics on Wattpad, so if you’d like to read more, feel free to check them out! I’ll leave the link here 💗)
The hallway outside the locker room still vibrates with leftover noise,distant cheering, skates scraping, a muffled announcement that sounds too cheerful for how your stomach feels.
You stop at the door, knuckles hovering over the painted logo. Inside, you can hear it: the sharp click of a tape roll, the low hum of the ventilation, the occasional murmur from staff trying to sound casual.
You push in.
Shane sits on the bench nearest his stall, legs stretched forward, one skate still on and the other half-laced like someone gave up halfway through. His jersey is gone, replaced by a gray compression shirt that clings to his shoulders. An ice pack is strapped to his knee with that medical wrap that never looks comfortable.
A trainer is crouched in front of him. “We need you to answer a few questions, Shane. Pain scale. One to ten.”
Shane’s gaze is fixed on a spot on the floor. “No.”
“Shane.”
“No,” he repeats, and this time his voice is sharper, like a blade drawn from a sheath.
The trainer exhales and looks over his shoulder, eyes catching on you. There’s a silent question there,can you?
You don’t say yes. You just step closer, and the trainer takes the hint, standing.
“We’ll be right outside,” he says carefully. “If the swelling gets worse,”
“I know,” Shane cuts in.
The trainer leaves. The door closes softly behind him.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of Shane’s breathing and the quiet drip of a shower someone forgot to turn fully off.
You don’t rush to fill the silence. You’ve learned that with Shane, silence isn’t empty. It’s space. It’s control.
You sit down on the bench a few feet away,not too close, not far enough to feel like abandonment.
Shane doesn’t look at you.
“You’re bleeding,” you say gently, nodding at a scrape on his forearm.
His eyes flick there like he’s checking the weather. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine if it gets infected.”
“It won’t.”
You tilt your head. “You have superpowers now?”
His mouth twitches, the tiniest almost-smile that doesn’t fully form. “No.”
“Okay,” you say, keeping your tone soft, “then let me clean it.”
“No.”
You don’t argue. You just open your small kit,always in your bag on game nights for reasons exactly like this,and set the alcohol wipe on the bench between you.
“It’s there if you want it,” you say. “No pressure.”
Shane’s jaw tightens. His fingers are curled into his palm so hard his knuckles look white.
Outside, the arena noise begins to fade, like a tide retreating. People are leaving. The game has moved on without him.
You watch his shoulders rise and fall.
Finally, you ask, “Does it hurt?”
He shrugs. A sharp, angry movement. “What do you think?”
You nod once. “Right. Sorry.”
His eyes snap to yours at that,like he expects you to defend yourself, to insist you meant nothing by it.
You don’t.
You just stay.
Shane looks away again, but his gaze doesn’t go back to the floor. It lands on your hands instead,how you’re resting them on your knees, relaxed, not reaching for him.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he says.
“I got permission.”
“You shouldn’t,” he repeats, voice lower, rougher. “It’s… not your job.”
You keep your voice steady. “Being here isn’t a job.”
He lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh but isn’t. “Then what is it?”
You swallow. The honest answer feels too big for the room. Too bright.
So you say, “It’s a choice.”
That makes him still.
For a long moment, Shane doesn’t speak. He stares at the taped-up ice pack like it might reveal something if he looks hard enough.
Then, quietly, “They’re gonna want to talk.”
“I know.”
“I’m not talking.”
“I know.”
His eyes flick toward you. “Why are you agreeing with me?”
“Because you’re allowed,” you say simply. “You’re allowed to not want to talk.”
Shane’s throat bobs when he swallows. “They’re going to say I’m being difficult.”
You shrug one shoulder. “Let them.”
He lets out a slow breath through his nose, like he’s trying to steady something inside him. “It’s not that simple.”
“I know,” you say again. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
His gaze sharpens, defensive. “I’m not,”
“Not alone,” you repeat, calm. “Not with this.”
Shane’s hands unclench, then curl again, like he can’t decide what shape to hold himself in.
He says, “It’s just a knee.”
You tilt your head. “It’s not just a knee.”
His eyes darken. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t… make it,” He stops, frustrated. He presses his thumb hard into the side of his index finger like he’s trying to push words out through skin. “Don’t make it emotional.”
You nod slowly. “Okay. No emotions.”
He stares at you like he can’t tell if you’re teasing.
You add, gently, “But you’re allowed to have them anyway.”
The corner of his mouth twitches again, more bitter this time. “That’s a trap.”
“It’s not.”
Shane leans back against the lockers, eyes closing for a second, like the bright fluorescent lights are too much. When he opens them again, his gaze looks tired in a way that has nothing to do with the game.
“Did you see it?” he asks.
You don’t pretend. “Yes.”
His voice goes flat. “The replay?”
“They showed it once,” you say. “I looked away.”
“Why?”
“Because you were on the ice,” you say, and it comes out simpler than you meant. “Because you weren’t getting up.”
His eyes flicker. Something moves under his skin.
He swallows. “I tried.”
“I know you did.”
“I tried to get up,” he says, like he needs you to understand the exact facts. “I wanted to. My leg just,” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
You keep your voice low. “That must’ve been scary.”
He scoffs, but it’s thin. “No.”
You raise your eyebrows slightly. “No?”
His gaze snaps to yours. “I don’t get scared.”
You hold his eyes. “Okay.”
He waits for you to challenge him.
You don’t.
The silence stretches again, but it’s different now,tight, trembling, like a string pulled too far.
Then Shane’s voice drops, almost a whisper. “I hate when they look at me like I failed.”
The words land heavy in the emptying room.
You don’t answer immediately. You let them exist without trying to fix them.
Finally, you say, “Who is ‘they’?”
Shane’s lips press together. “Everyone.”
“Okay,” you say softly. “And what do you think they’re thinking?”
He laughs once, sharp and humorless. “That I’m fragile. That I’m,” He shakes his head like the word disgusts him. “That I’m replaceable.”
You lean forward slightly, careful not to invade his space. “Shane.”
He flinches at the way you say his name,like it’s too gentle to belong in a locker room.
“I’m not,” he says quickly, almost panicked. “I’m not replaceable. I’m, I’m the best. I’m,” His voice cracks, just barely, like ice giving way under too much weight. “I’m supposed to be.”
Your chest aches.
You say, “You being hurt doesn’t change what you are.”
His eyes shine, but he blinks hard, like he’s angry at his own body for reacting.
“They’ll talk,” he whispers. “They’ll say it’s because I push too hard. They’ll say I’m obsessive. They’ll say it’s my fault.”
You keep your voice even. “Do you think it’s your fault?”
He hesitates,just a fraction.
That hesitation is an answer.
You reach for the alcohol wipe and hold it out,not toward him, but near enough that he can take it if he wants.
“You don’t have to punish yourself for getting hurt,” you say.
His fingers hover, then withdraw. “I wasn’t punishing myself.”
“You’re sitting here alone,” you point out softly. “Refusing help. Refusing to talk. Refusing to,” You stop before you say let anyone see you.
Shane’s nostrils flare. “I don’t want pity.”
“I’m not giving you pity.”
“What are you giving me, then?” he snaps.
You don’t flinch. You meet him head-on. “I’m giving you company.”
He stares at you.
“You can hate how it feels,” you continue. “You can hate that people will speculate. You can hate the looks. But you don’t have to earn love by being unbreakable.”
His throat moves again. “Love,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word and deciding if it’s safe.
Your heart stutters.
You keep your voice calm anyway. “Care, then. If love feels too… loud.”
Shane looks down at his hands. His fingers are shaking slightly now, and he tries to hide it by curling them into fists.
“You don’t… look at me like that,” he says.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m,” He struggles again, words getting caught behind his teeth. “Like I’m disappointing.”
You shake your head once. “No.”
He lifts his eyes slowly. “No?”
“No,” you repeat, firm. “I look at you and I see someone who works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. Someone who cares so much it’s painful.”
His breath catches.
“And I see someone who got hurt doing his job,” you add. “That’s not failure.”
Shane’s lips part, but no sound comes out.
You wait.
After a moment, he says quietly, “If I can’t play…”
You don’t rush in with reassurance you can’t guarantee. You don’t promise miracles. You just say, “Then we’ll figure it out.”
His brows knit. “We?”
You nod. “If you want.”
His eyes search your face like he’s looking for a trick. For pressure. For a condition.
He doesn’t find one.
Shane’s shoulders sag a fraction, like he’s been holding himself upright with sheer will and finally lets it go.
He whispers, “Stay.”
You don’t smile. You don’t make it a big moment.
You just answer, “I’m here.”
He swallows, voice barely audible. “Closer.”
You shift on the bench, moving carefully until you’re at his side,close enough that your shoulder almost brushes his, but you don’t touch unless he does first.
Shane’s hand lifts, hesitant, and then his knuckles graze yours,an accidental-seeming contact that is absolutely deliberate.
You let your fingers curl slightly so he feels you there.
The arena outside is quiet now. The team is gone. The staff are gone. The lights in the hallway dim.
It’s just the two of you and the steady hum of the building.
Shane stares ahead, voice low. “If they ask me questions…”
You breathe in slowly, matching his rhythm. “You can answer what you can. And you can say you’re not ready for the rest.”
He nods once, barely.
“And if they look at you like you failed,” you add softly, “you can look at me.”
He turns his head, and his eyes find yours.
For the first time tonight, he doesn’t look like a statue trying not to crack.
He looks like Shane,tired, stubborn, hurting, human.
“Okay,” he whispers.
You squeeze his hand,just once, gentle.
“Okay,” you echo.
Need more of Shane and Ilya with their pup.
I keeping thinking about Shane and pup alone at the cottage. Shane has pup whining at the door to go out when Shane gets a phone call from Hayden. Pup still whining and Hayden question Shane just says he’s dog sitting and kind of just degrading his pup over the the phone to the oblivious Hayden
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov x male reader
Rambles
The request: has no outright mention of watersports. Me, Gator: who up pissin they floor?