Janaina Medeiros
Misplaced Lens Cap
AnasAbdin
i don't do bad sauce passes
ojovivo
#extradirty
YOU ARE THE REASON
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Kiana Khansmith
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
d e v o n
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almost home
Product Placement
taylor price
KIROKAZE
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dirt enthusiast
roma★
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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@irrelevantbutembarrassing
Okay justice for Ilya Rozanov, a man who notably managed his entire families finances and his dementia-having fathers caretaking since he was literally a teenager, while also essentially raising himself to be an elite, generational athlete by himself.
like what is this ‘Ilya needs the threat of a sex ban to pick up his socks’ slander or this ‘Ilya has terrible financial literacy’ misinformation or this ‘Ilya only eats junk food and needs to be forced to eat his veggies’ tomfoolery
Loads of Hollanov fics have them getting walked in on while making out etc which is great
But I’d love a fic where one or both of Shane’s parents drop by the cottage for phone charger/laundry pod reasons and find Shane snuggled on the couch fast asleep on Ilya’s chest and that’s how they find out
They’re dressed in soft casual clothes, sleeping like the dead and wrapped around each other like vines and Ilya’s hand is in Shane’s hair and Shane looks so so comfortable and relaxed
Meanwhile his parents are staring slack-jawed at the sight of their son using his archenemy the Russian Rage Machine as a teddybear/pillow
free use shane is amazing, but I feel like we as a fandom are overseeing free use ilya.
free use ilya that, when shane proposes it, in the convoluted way he invents and proposes every kink in the book out of his beautiful mind, ilya thinks it will be the easiest day of his existence. he always wants shane. he wants shane when he's awake, when he's sleeping, when he's eating. he'd throw the chicken parmesan to the fucking floor if shane says, in that sweet voice, I need you inside me I need you now.
free use ilya that sounds even a little bit condescending when he says yes of course I'll be like your dildo I'll be your toy you can fuck me as many times as you want, let's pick a day that we both are home.
but ilya, of course, ilya had forgotten how to the letter is shane, ilya had forgotten how fucking fast shane can bring himself off on ilya's cock, and the thing is—shane is fucking relentless. ilya wakes up already inside shane, and by the time shane is coming ilya is just starting to get there, but when shane is done he's done so it's not his problem ilya didn't come. no worries, shane will want him soon enough. and yes. soon enough he wants him, but he wants his fingers fingers gimme your fingers ilya and ilya. ilya fucking complies, and when he tries to finish himself off, after shane as finished for a second time almost breaking his fingers with how hard he was squeezing on him by the end, shane looks at ilya, almost disappointed. because, you know, dildos don't fucking come. at least not on their own.
so ilya pushes through, jaws almost hurting and balls definitely hurting but something hazy starts overtaking him, and maybe it's just that there is no more blood in his body apart from the one responsible to maintain his cock hard every time just a whiff of shane's scent comes close to him.
so the day is torture because the next time shane just sits on his face and comes like that and at this point ilya can't barely talk, he's soft and pliant and everything is beyond a veil of pleasure fog where only shane comes through, only his voice, you're doing it so good, you're being such a nice toy, I'm so lucky so lucky so lucky.
when shane finally sits down on his cock again it's like fucking into a furnace, ilya is so gone he just takes it while shane rides him in the sofa, not even bouncing, just grinding against him and letting his saliva fall into ilya's open mouth, tears pooling on the sides of his eyes. and he's not gonna make it, it's just impossible, he's going to come and shane will be disappointed because he did not make him one more time; shane pats at his cheek, not even hard, focus on me, babe, I'm almost there, you can do it, and he directs ilya's hand, first to his mouth to spit on it, and then to his cock so he can jerk him off while he grinds and grinds and grinds and finally, oh, fuck, he finally makes that sound that always precedes his orgasm, it's his fourth, ilya thinks, or maybe his fifth and ilya has had zero, nil, nada, and shane is calling him babe and saying now now now you can, now you're allowed and ilya just lets himself go, everything black and stars in the inside of his eyelids and everything that exists is only shane and the squeeze of his rim around ilya's cock, milking him dry, really really kissing him and bringing themselves down from the fucking clouds.
so good. he says and ilya fucking melts under him. my little toy, so good for me, filling me up only when i ask him to. and ilya is kind of smiling but the side of his cheeks are full of drying tears and he loves shane so much and he will never, never again underestimate his husband.
The deadset determination with which Shane starts to persue Ilya once he allows himself to actually feel his emotions is nothing short of poetic. Shane is an immovable object until he becomes the unstoppable force. All the time he held himself back by compartmentalisation and represssion, but once the switch is flicked, his love for Ilya drives him forward, steadily and so bravely. He gets on his mission to get his man back in Tampa. Gently but persistently works his way through Ilya's emotional barriers. Doesn't even let a concussion stop him from inviting Ilya to his cottage, bravely sharing his sacred privacy. Making plans for Ilya, himself and their future, while honoring Irina. Stands shaking and afraid infront of his parents and tells them he loves Ilya. Shane is deeply commited to Ilya and he would move the world for him.
the first time ilya takes shane to the club after they get married, he shaves beforehand, puts on a tight black tank top and sprays himself with his fuckboy cologne from the hookup era. shane is already horny for him even before they leave the house — crucially, he loves fuckboy ilya, because come on, he’s been fucking this man for years when he looked exactly like this.
at the club, ilya buys out the entire dj set to only play 2010s club anthems all night long. he wants to give shane the ultimate 2010s clubbing experience he never had, but also make up for all those nights ilya had to spend dancing and making out with strangers and not the one person he wanted. but now he gets to do all this with his husband! who is delightfully hard for him by the way, because shane finds sleazy club slut ilya absolutely irresistible. ilya is gripping his hips, grinding against him, licking his neck and whispering the dirtiest filth into his ear, and shane gets dizzying butterflies he imagines all those girls got back then. and he isn’t even retroactively jealous, because now his ring is on ilya’s finger, and oh god, he gets to be taken home by ilya rozanov! he gets to have all his attention now and get railed stupid by him later!! in their shared home!!! shane is living his dream life, and ilya is right there with him.
Sometimes Aziraphale feels old. Or, he feels weary and achy and tired. He is old, that’s for certain, but angels don’t really get old. He’d been wearing this face since the dawn of time, and sometimes his cheeks were plumper or thinner, and sometimes there were bags under his eyes, but it hadn’t aged a day. Sometimes he remembers the inquisitions, the revolutions, the crusades, the war and the horror of it all, and he laments how much his years have let him see.
And then Crowley will do something like start humming. He’s wandering around the bookshop, idly rearranging things. Aziraphale doesn’t have his books arranged by the alphabet or Dewey Decimal–no silly human classification. He’s not an animal, he has a system, it’s just that only he knows what it is. And Crowley, maybe. He seems to have figured it out, or otherwise is using his demonic instincts, because he’s putting the books he plucks from the shelves in exactly the worst place he could put them. Aziraphale would be mad, but it gives him something to look busy doing when customers come in asking questions.
He can’t place the tune. It’s familiar, so familiar, but he can’t place it. He doesn’t realize at first that he’s been following Crowley around the shop, brows furrowed, following the sound like a bee tracking pollen.
Crowley finally notices him, but doesn’t stop, making contact through his glasses as he reshelves a book. The humming gets a little louder, a little more pointed and teasing.
“What is that tune?” Aziraphale finally asks. “It’s driving me mad.”
Crowley quirks a grin, taking a moment before he stops to respond. “Willard Bourke. Pianist. We saw him play in the 70s, in that little tavern, you remember. You thought he was handsome.”
Aziraphale blushes, but, yes, he does remember now. They’d been there for a drink, and Aziraphale had been mesmerized by the man’s deft fingers. “Ah.” Aziraphale clears his throat. Crowley says the 70s, like there’d been only one of them, but it had in fact been the 1770s when they’d heard him play. “I do remember, yes. I thought he’d be famous. Pity no one remembers.”
“We do,” Crowley says, and goes back to humming.
Or that time he stops by Crowley’s flat, just for some tea, just for a chat. He finds Crowley in the middle of cooking, cursing quietly to himself. The demon looks frustrated. He’s positively glowering when Aziraphale enters.
Aziraphale surveys his ingredients, face screwing in confusion. “Whatever are you cooking?”
“Stew,” Crowley responds glumly. “Or, at least, I’m trying to. I can’t get it right.”
“Part of the joy of stew is that you don’t have to get it right.” He waves his hands. “The pot does most of the work.”
Crowley hisses, raising his fingers to rub against his eyes. “No, it’s … It’s a specific stew. I’ve been craving it for ages, but no one makes it anymore. It came with these little roasted dill seed bread balls and …” He cuts himself off.
“Crowley–” Aziraphale squints suspiciously. “How old is this recipe, exactly?”
Crowley sighs, already defeated. “Mesopotamia?” he ekes out, abashed.
Aziraphale laughs. “Oh, good! It’ll be a challenge, then.” He pulls the spoon from Crowley’s hand, taking a sip. “Juniper berries,” he decides. “You need juniper berries.”
Or when Warlock is young, maybe 6, not more than 7, though Aziraphale finds it so hard to keep track. He and Nanny Ashtoreth are sitting in the garden, drawing. It’s one of the rare moments when they’re both calm, worn out from a long day of chasing and yelling and plotting.
Aziraphale pretends to mind his rosebushes, but he’s been watching them for some time. Finally, he breaks and walks over.
“Ah, young master Warlock,” he says, peering over their shoulders. “What a wonderful drawing you’ve done. You like dinosaurs, hmm?”
Warlock looks up, colored pencil held tight in his fist. “Nanny is teaching me about extinct animals. Like dinosaurs and thylacines and unicorns.”
Aziraphale shoots Nanny Ashtoreth a look. She doesn’t look back.
Warlock pipes up again. “Nanny invented dinosaurs, did you know?”
“Did she now?” Aziraphale asks. It’s hard to keep his voice straight, because he knows this to be a fact. Crowley had been quite drunk at the time, but he thought it would be hilarious. “Big ‘ol lizards,” he’d said, “just huge, you know. Like a dragon, but they’ll think they’re real, see. Biggest things ever. ‘ould barely fit in the garden, them. Big buggers.”
Warlock nods. “My favorite is the T-Rex. Nanny says it would eat you in one bite.”
Aziraphale hums, discontented, as Nanny Ashtoreth quirks a grin. He spares a glance at what she’s drawing, and stops. It’s the most beautiful drawing of a passenger pigeon he’s ever seen. The reds and blues of it, every detail in its feathers. They’d seen them together, before, before they’d all gotten hunted out.
“It’s a lovely drawing, Nanny,” he says, voice a little more earnest than he means it to be.
The pencil stops, then keeps going.
Warlock looks up at him again. “Nanny says she ate the last one.”
“I did,” Nanny Ashtoreth responds. “And don’t you forget it.”
It’s the little things, the things that, by himself, Aziraphale might not remember. It’s the feel of the earliest silk, the thrill of his first moving picture, the clamor of a Roman marketplace on a hot day. Aziraphale is good at the experiencing, but Crowley has always been one for the remembering. Things stick with him. Things that, otherwise, would have been lost to time.
They’re curled up in bed, two commas together, and it’s been one of those days. Every shine is the glint of a sword, every wayward noise a battle cry, and Aziraphale can’t seem to stop remembering. He remembers the mess and the horror of it, he remembers the loss. All six-thousand years of loss.
Aziraphale swallows, and he hates how thick his throat feels. “Tell me good things,” he asks, meek, tired, and Crowley hums and presses a kiss into his shoulder.
Do you remember? Crowley asks, and keeps going. Do you remember, do you remember?
Yes, Aziraphale responds. Yes, yes, I do now.
They lay there, and remember together, six-thousand years of good and light, and fun and joy, and it’s easier. It doesn’t take away all the bad that he’s seen, but it’s easier. He remembers the food and the smells and the heavy cotton, and the music and the laughter and his first taste of wine. The bad isn’t gone, but there’s good, too, pushing it’s way in to make room.
Do you remember when we met? Crowley whispers, their hands linking.
Aziraphale pulls them up to place a kiss against his knuckles. It was so long ago, a lifetime, but yes, he does.
I remember, he says.
Shane doesn't want kids. He's never said so in so many words, but Ilya's read between the lines. He remembers Shane's interview after Pike asked him to be his daughter's godfather. How the interviewer had asked if he hoped to have kids of his own one day. How Shane had gone a little blank and guarded the way he does whenever he's asked a difficult question. How he'd come back with a perfect media-trained answer ("Not sure. Right now, my responsibility is making sure the cup comes back to Montreal. That's my baby.") How every similar question after that was met with a similar answer, until eventually reporters learned to stop asking.
So Ilya knows that Shane doesn't want kids. And that's fine. Ilya thinks he does want them, but not so badly that he couldn't live without them if Shane didn't want them. Their family is already perfect, just the two of them. And Ilya gets to help look after Pike's kids sometimes, and he adores those kids, so that's good enough.
That's why Ilya is completely blindsided one day when Shane turns to him after settling all the Pike kids down for their afternoon nap, and says, "Do you think our kids would be this easy to settle if we ever had them?"
And Ilya's so shocked that his brain has to buffer for a moment. He's just staring at Shane, whose cheeks are now flushing with colour. Ilya can't figure out where to start with this conversation, and the longer he's taking to reply the more awkward Shane is getting, until eventually his eyes drop to his hands. "I mean, uh, nevermind. Forget I said anything. I just thought... nevermind."
This snaps Ilya out of it. "Where is this coming from? I thought you didn't want kids?"
And Shane has a little confused frown on his face. "I've always wanted kids. I thought you might not want kids. You always get a little weird when anyone brings it up in conversation. I can't ever get a good read on what you want."
And this is truly not how Ilya thought this conversation was going to go if they ever had it.
"But what about all those interviews where you avoid the question? All that 'the cup is my only baby' stuff...?"
"That's because it's a stupid fucking question and none of their business," Shane laughs. "And also because it's not something I thought I'd ever be able to have. Not when I couldn't imagine ever being happy with a woman. Not when I thought I'd never be with someone I actually wanted to build a life with. But with you? Yeah. Yeah one day when hockey is done, Ilya Rozanov, I'd really like to have kids with you. But only if you want it to."
And Ilya smiles Tampa-bar bright, and swoops in to kiss Shane all giddy and messy, following it up with at least a dozen more peppered all over his face.
"Of course I want to have babies with you. They would be the most beautiful babies in the world," he says. And then he looks around the living room. "How mad do you think Hayden would be if we made our first one right now?"
He's waggling his eyebrows, and Shane laughs and shoves him.
"Fuck off, asshole," he says, leaning in to kiss him again. Before pulling away, lips still brushing Ilya's, Shane mutters, "When we get home, I'll let you try to make as many as you want."
not sure i believe in deltarune tomorrow but i also distinctly remember not believing in deltarune tomorrow when the 2025 direct happened and we all know how that went so now i'm like the dog that has to check the bush every time because there was a pie in there once
THERE WAS A PIE IN THE BUSH AGAIN I REPEAT THERE WAS PIE IN THE BUSH AGAIN
I am a hung Shane Hollander truther. I don’t care what that ranking list says, it’s obviously wrong.
It makes Ilya absolutely feral that the only purpose of his big husband’s dick is to lay there and look pretty while Ilya fucks him.
I love to read the Boston Tuna hookup from Shane's perspective, it's one of the best scenes of the book, but damn I need to have the Ilya version because WHAT THE FUCK was going through that man's mind?
Let's recap, he:
Doesn't talk to Shane when he first arrives until they're both in the bedroom, still no hi
Asks him to be on top because he wants to "look at him"
Calls him "Sweetheart" as he comes
Initiates uncharacteristic cuddles complete with "adoring" face kisses (words by shane, who is getting freaked out, understandably)
Asks him to stay the night
Asks him to stay the night?
Stocks his drink of choice (that hasn't been mentioned in the whole book and shane thinks its fucking weird he knows what his beer replacement is? Understandably again)
Cooks for him (shane is thinking delivery, Ilya says no I'll make sandwiches)
Gets weird about Shane drinking the ginger ale
Starts to prod shane about him liking women
Actually just starts a really weird convo with him? Like guys, it's even weirder in the book
(I'm skipping the whole call from Grigory thing bc that's not something that Ilya did)
They keep watching hockey in silence and Ilya basically puts Shane in a spooning position in the couch for a cuddle and playing with his hair before initiating more sex
Blurts out his name as he comes
After shane backtracks he does this weird little "no this is nothing hollander but also you forgetting a team meet give me a more convincing lie" while basically asking daring him to stay with his eyes
I just can't picture what the plan was, what he was thinking he would achieve with this, I need to read Ilyas pov from this.
Shane is the type of husband who notices that Ilya likes the blue M&M's most and can't help but indulge his whims. Well, to be fair, it's hard not to notice with Ilya loudly proclaiming these were the best ones, whenever he happily snacks away, or the way he always steals the blue one's from Luca Haas.
Naturally, Shane makes sure their home will never never run short on this specific candy. One day he buys incomprehensible amounts of M&M's bags to just pick the blue one's and fill one regular bag with them, and quietly drops it in Ilya's lap when they have a movie night and Ilya moans and complains that he wants a real movie snack not plain popcorn without seasoning, Shane, that is not a snack that's a torture for taste buds. Ilya quickly shuts up and gets all wobbly-lipped when he realised Shane handpicked all the blue M&M's for him and squishes Shane in a fit of cuteness aggression.
Shane is also the kind of husband who grumbles that all M&M's taste absolutely the same - like refined sugar and bad decisions that is - and no, Ilya you can't determine the food colouring with your tongue and why do you have to choose to eat the ones with the most unnatural colour anyways? Ilya just says that Shame of all people should know that Ilya's tongue is that talented, and Shane, even after all these years, blushes. And then calls Ilya an asshole.
What Ilya doesn't say is that you can simply buy prepacked single colour M&Ms. What Shane doesn't say is, that he's aware of that, too, not that he would let that knowledge stop him from personally pampering his husband.
(Ilya's version)
Ilya who gets such intense cute aggression at the pictures of fat baby Shane that Yuna shows him, that when he goes to find Shane prepping dinner in the kitchen, he actually bites his cheek. And when Shane's like "Hey, the fuck was that for?" (half annoyed, half turned on) Ilya's just like "You know what you fucking did."
Ilya: Yuna, I was wondering what happens to picture from billboard when they switch it out? Who gets to keep the giant picture of Shane like that?
Shane: Ilya, we are not getting old billboard vinyl sent to our home! *in Russian* And stop talking to my mother about you wanting big photos of me in boxers and a tank top! It's weird!
Ilya: You are so right, moya lyubov. New is much better. Yuna, can we put a condition in Shane's modelling contracts that they make extra copy of billboard for "quality control" and send it to our home?
And, because I love him, Ilya eventually gets his way and it is up in the wall of one of the garages and Shane refuses to go in there. I mean obviously Ilya eventually convinces him to fuck in front of it multiple times but normally Shane refuses to be in the same room as it.
ilya rozanov who’s known to boston as the mysterious fuckboy from russia who chirps like he’s getting paid for it and is crazy good at hockey. one day a teammate is absent from a few games in a row and turns back up to practice with a fucking newborn and they’re all in their hockey gear fawning over this tiny baby. then once everyone’s said hi before practice, the crowd parts and ilyas just stood by the doorway, a literal deer in headlights staring at the bundle of blankets in his teammates arms and-
“do you wanna hold him?”
ilya’s moving forward before he can process the words and everyone’s holding their breath as he gathers the newborn into his arms, pausing to take his gloves off first. it’s a few tense seconds before the baby babbles and shifts slightly before tucking his head into the crook of his arm and swiftly falling to sleep.
ilya looks up to see his whole team stifling grins, “i think we’ve found the new babysitter” and he bites back a chirp because he doesn’t want to wake the baby he’s holding so delicately to his chest.
he’s stuck on the sidelines for the whole practice while he rocks the baby through the slams against walls, waving its little arm towards its dad when it eventually wakes up.
and yeah pictures surface soon after of fucking rozanov staring down at the baby in his arms with the fucking softest eyes and twitter has a field day proving he’s a softie at heart
Yall busy? Or have a little time on your day to talk about the first time Shane cried during sex and Ilya’s reaction????
I think there were a few occasions over their hookup years where he got teary and nonverbal from overstimulation. First time it happened Ilya froze and was worried until he tried pulling back and Shane whined like he was being stabbed and grabbed him to pull him back in. Ilya got a lot more gentle after that with his checkins, like "does it feel that good? Oh, so sensitive" and Shane could only really nod. From then on it was sort of a badge of pride during sex if Ilya could push him that far.
But the first time Shane really full-on cried during sex was at the cottage. It was one of those times when they remembered just how much time they had on their hands and made full use of it, Ilya breaking Shane down to his core components with slow, measured deliberacy. And the whole time he's saying the sappiest, most lovestruck things. Less at first since it's still very new and unusual to do, but he gains confidence as he goes until he can't stop murmuring about just how precious and beautiful Shane is. Shane tears up more and more until he comes, and that's when Shane lets the tears fall in full in bed for the first time. They're both silent afterwards as Ilya kisses away each tear and runs his fingers soothingly through Shane's hair
Share a vision with me: Hollanov in bed. It's dark out. The bedside lamp is on, glowing. Ilya is lying on his stomach, head resting on his folded arms, naked from the waist up. Shane is sat against the headboard, glasses on, ostensibly reading his book but really he's softly tracing the moles on Ilya's back. Ilya gets so relaxed and drowsy at the goosebump-raising sensation of Shane's dragging fingertips that he falls asleep. Shane doesn't stop his gentle caresses, just stares at Ilya's face. They're both lethargic with love, basking in it.
Desperately thinking of mildly possessive Grace, who slowly realizes that he sort of hates when other scientists want to study Simon. Like no, they don't get to, only he can do it. He understands Simon the best, he's been with him for years, why would Simon need other scientists when Grace is right there??
Meanwhile Simon wasn't even gonna let other scientists touch him, because he only feels comfortable when Grace does it.
