[kitchenisking]

Its a New Blog 🥳

Hello to my amazing followers! its almost the new year and I was thinking for a while now to make a separate blog for my recs so that they would be easier to find for you and me😉

Edit: I have now decided that if im making a separate blog then each fandom will have its own blog. for now I've only done for sterek. This post will be pinned and once I have links to the other blogs I'll add it🥰

Edit 2: It was a lot faster to transfer all the post to the new blogs. I've now deleted the posts on the main blog and you can find them here on the new blogs. I am sorry for the inconvenience to everyone who has liked a post for later. Thank you for you understanding.

THE NEW BLOG!!!!!!!!!! -

Sterek Blog - www.tumblr.com/kiksterekficrecs

Polin Blog - www.tumblr.com/kikpolinficrecs

Heated Rivalry Blog -www.tumblr.com/kikheatedrivalryficrec

Any new recs that I will be posting will now be posted on the new blog that is solely for the recs.

I have also been sucked into the amazing craziness that is Heated Rivalry and have been reading that and hopefully will be making recs soon!

That everyone has a happy new year!❤️

[takaraphoenix]

*loud crash down the hall in the school*

Stiles: Nope.

Scott: ???

Stiles: Not my circus, not my monkeys. We got lacrosse practice to get to.

Erica, down the hall: WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY ABOUT MY BOYFRIEND?

Stiles, eyes tightly closed: ...Might be my circus...

Boyd, also down the hall: Erica, it's oka--What did you just call her? *loud growl*

Isaac: *snarling*

Stiles, defeated: ...Definitely my monkeys...

Scott: I'll tell coach that you'll be late.

[kitchenisking]

🤣

[buckleyflower]

Eddie promised Buck he would take good care of Theo. Obviously. Buck had to pick up an extra shift and Eddie was the only option, so here they are, at Eddie’s house, alone, with Eddie who feels a little like his heart is beating out of his chest. It’s a feeling he’s distinctly acquainted with, but he won’t dwell on that thought, for now.

He is pretty sure that he can be a decent dad. He is a great, awesome dad, but chances are he’ll never fully believe that. Especially after the whole Chris-in-Texas parenthesis. However, he knows he can successfully babysit a toddler and survive, making sure that they both make it through the day and he can return said toddler safe to his parent (which is a thought he’d probably associate with a postal package but… he’s stressed). That’s what he keeps reminding himself while he follows Theo around the house.

He never told Buck, but there’s no mistaking this kid for anyone other than Buck’s son. And Eddie kind of loves it. Part of Eddie, after hearing all about Buck’s childhood, wishes he could teleport back in time and hold baby Buck, protecting him from all harm, but that’s probably just his paternal instincts taking over him from time to time. Taking care of Theo gives him the impression that he’s doing something good for Buck, and for baby Buck.

However, whenever he’s with the kid, especially when they are alone, he doesn’t have much room to sit down and think. And he loves it. Really. He doesn’t mind at all that Theo is such an energetic and intelligent kid. If anything, he loves him for it.

The problem is that his brain-to-mouth filter is completely gone most of the time.

And that’s something that Eddie definitely does not like. Especially since realizing how in love he is with his best friend.

Buck is the most important person in his life after Christopher, and he cannot and won’t jeopardize that.

Except that Theo probably has other plans for him. Because it’s not Eddie’s fault that the kid has begged him for ice cream and not his fault that he can’t resist him, so now they’re trying not to get chocolate ice cream all over his couch and Theo is completely covered in it.

It’s not Eddie’s fault, really. Theo keeps giggling and Eddie is a little bit tired. “Look at you, Theo!” He says, and the kid just keeps giggling like Eddie is the funniest man alive. “What are we telling your dad?”

It just… slips out.

And Theo doesn’t flinch, not like Eddie does. Instantaneously and violently. Fuck. He really shouldn’t have said that, but Theo doesn’t seem to notice, so he won’t bring it up.

Theo just smiles, a bit mischievously and says “call Buck!”

Eddie sighs. He fucking loves this kid. It’s honestly unfair. “We can’t call Buck, buddy, he’s at work, remember?” He gently reminds him.

Theo seems to think about it, then nods, and then throws himself at Eddie, who is crouched down by the couch, so in two seconds flat, they are both covered in ice cream.

And Eddie is wearing a white tee, but he won’t budge. Not a time for a mental breakdown. He was a soldier. He can survive a mini Buck.

“Theo…”

“Eddie!” Theo delightfully wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck and squeezes and Eddie wants to drop on the floor, precisely lying down, and sob until he’s dying from dehydration.

“Eddie’s got you!” Then he whispers in Eddie’s neck, because Buck is always telling him that, and Eddie’s heart becomes dust in his chest. There’s no way it has not exploded.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, all chocked up and emotional. “I always got you.” And then, when Theo wiggles free, he adds, “now we gotta get you in a bath, bud.”

By the time Buck comes home, Christopher is sound asleep in his room, but Theo seems determined to win his battle against sleep and waits for Buck with only one eye open.

“Hey, Theo, you can sleep, buddy, I’m here,” Buck reassures him, kneeling down next to the little bed.

Theo smiles. Somehow, his smile manages to always carry a spark of something playful and smart, and Buck loves him for that. “Hello,” he sleepily murmurs. Then he turns to Eddie, to look at him for a moment, before succumbing to sleep. “Don’t tell dad, Eddie.”

Eddie remains frozen on the spot, looking at Buck, while Buck looks at Theo like he’s a ticking bomb.

“I– I think, it’s, uh, my fault, I guess?” Eddie says, whispering.

[kitchenisking]

🥹😍

[my-castles-crumbling]

buttons - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 230 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

“Oh my god, oh my god!” Ilya yelled, words slurring and blending together as he shot up off his seat at the bar. “Marly! Marly, do you hear this?”

Cliff Marleau, who had been talking animatedly with Shane about the game the Bears had just played against the Centaurs, turned to Ilya, his face lighting up. “ROZ! It’s our song, man!”

Screaming together, they dragged each other onto the nearby dancefloor, turning their hats backward and raising their beers as they began to bellow the lyrics in each others’ faces. Shane gaped, his lips curling up a little at the edges, as he watched his husband morph into what could only be his club persona from five years ago. 

“‘Buttons’ by the Pussycat Dolls?” Harris muttered next to him, watching in amusement as well. “I feel like we shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Probably not.” But Shane was starting to get distracted as he watched Ilya unashamedly grind on Marleau, beer sloshing all down his arm, his heated gaze fixed on Shane the entire time. “Jesus Christ.”

Harris snorted. “Didn’t know your type was fuckboy, Hollander.”

He grinned at that. “I knew what I married. But he’s my fuckboy.”

The next morning, he made sure to wake Ilya bright and early for their run by blasting the same song, cackling as his husband swore in Russian and threw a pillow at him.

[kitchenisking]

🤣🥰❤️

[my-castles-crumbling]

buttons - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - slightly NSFW - word count: 351 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

Ilya, who was quite enjoying his free evening, smirked at the TV in front of him and picked up his phone. 

Ilya: solnyshko. you are killing me.

Shane, who was on TV amongst a panel of other players, glanced at his phone, which was resting on the table in front him. His mouth twitched a bit in an expression Ilya recognized as confusion.

Ilya grinned. Fuck yes, he had Shane’s attention.

Ilya: the buttons, Jane. you undo two buttons on your shirt and think i do not get hard watching you on my tv?

He grinned as he hit send, relaxing back on his couch and staring his boyfriend down, waiting to see his reaction.

And yes. It took a few minutes, Shane stiffly replying to a question directed to him first, but after he finished his (boring) answer, he again glanced to his screen.

And promptly turned red.

Ilya beamed, body filling with heat and lust at Shane’s obvious arousal, a small chuckle escaping his mouth. “Oh, Hollander,” he muttered, smirking and shaking his head. “You are just too easy.”

It was entrancing. Watching as Shane swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, the throat Ilya’d had a hand wrapped around only days ago. Watching as the other man clearly fought to stay composed. Ilya loved this. To have Shane at his mercy, to remind both of them who Shane belonged to.

But before he could decide what to text his boyfriend next, Shane shifted on the screen, his expression turning a bit mischievous.

Lips quirking upward, eyes sparkling, Shane’s hands drifted to his chest, and Ilya’s whole body jolted with adrenaline for a moment as he wondered if Shane would maybe start touching his nipples right there, on TV. But instead…

Fuck.

Instead, he deftly undid another button, throwing a challenging look toward the camera.

Toward Ilya.

Oh my god.

“Sorry. I was just hot. What was the question?” Shane asked onscreen, the picture of calm.

But now Ilya was the one squirming in his seat.

Ilya: facetime me as soon as you are done Ilya: wear glasses

[kitchenisking]

😏❤️

[my-castles-crumbling]

film - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 397 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

Shane, sitting in the stands of the rink they were using for the first Game Changers camp, was completely caught up in paperwork. He barely noticed his mother’s hand fluttering at his shoulder, so it took her a few tries to gain his attention. But once he looked up, frowning a little, he saw her silently gesture to the ice, where Ilya stood with one solitary girl, about ten years of age.

Shane put down his pen and tilted his head to the side, listening in.

“...cannot say those things,” Ilya was saying patiently crouched down to the girl’s level. “Will not help you succeed. You have to believe in yourself.”

“But I’m just not good enough! I try and try and I just keep messing up! I’m so stupid!” the girl wailed, looking close to tears.

Immediately, Ilya pouted. “No, no! You cannot say this, I will not allow it. You are my friend and I do not let people say these things about my friends.”

Even through obvious tears, the girl smiled. “We’re friends?”

“Da, Милая девочка, of course. And I am not friends with stupid people.” He paused for a moment. “Well, except for maybe Hayden Pike. But normally is a rule, okay? So you are not stupid, and I will not let you say that. So come on, we will try again, and you will remember that you are my friend, so of course you are smart and talented and the best, okay?”

“Okay,” she sniffed, standing up straighter and moving towards a nearby puck. After a deep breath, she began to skate, maneuvering the puck in a complicated fashion before shooting it with obvious strength toward the upper-right corner of the goal. To her delight, it landed inside. 

She let out a yell of happiness that was quickly overshadowed by Ilya’s bellow of pride, and the tall man quickly skated over to her and picked her up, swinging her in a circle and rambling how how proud he was.

Shane, from the sidelines, felt tears in his eyes, utter adoration for his boyfriend flooding his body. “Please tell me you got that on film,” he murmured to his mom, wanting to relive that moment again and again whenever he was sad.

“Mhm. I’ll send it to you,” Yuna said with a smile, patting his shoulder.

God, he loved Ilya so fucking much.

[kitchenisking]

🥹❤️

[bisexualincarnate]

I think Shane Hollander would use his hometown superstar hockey powers to rent out the Ottawa stadium for one night maybe for like one of their anniversaries so he and Ilya could be completely alone and maybe they actually suit up and play 1v1 for awhile (hard and fast of course. like the golden age) and maybe it is actually too cold to fuck on center ice so instead they feel each other up in the actual Sin Bin bc Obviously but Shane stops it from going too far so they go to the locker room bc Shane wants to roleplay the first time in the showers after the commercial except this time he actually gets to do what he really wanted to do and suck Ilya off right there in the middle of the shower and he doesn't have to worry about anyone there but maybe they pretend they will get caught a little bit...

[kitchenisking]

❤️

[hutsonwoolyums]

It starts, like many things do, because Ilya is curious. Even after all these years, there are still things about Shane that make Ilya curious. It's just that he's seen how it affects Shane, being on his knees for Ilya, just holding Ilya’s cock in his mouth. His shoulders unclench and his face relaxes and he goes still, and any other time Ilya’s cock is out, Shane is never still. And so Ilya is curious. Where does Shane’s mind go when he floats away like that? What does it feel like? Ilya wants to know. 

So, ok, Ilya decides they’ll try it. He doesn’t explain all of his reasoning to Shane. He doesn’t have to, really. Ilya knows Shane will give him anything he wants. And sure enough, when Ilya tells him what they’re going to do, he blushes and hauls Ilya in for a kiss, breathes out “fuck, Ilya,” in the space between their mouths, and that’s good enough for Ilya. 

So they clean up from dinner, and Shane goes about setting up for them. He won’t let Ilya do anything, tells him, “Just let me. I know what we need.” So Ilya just sits on the sofa and waits, and watches Shane. Shane, who moves around the apartment with single-minded focus. Dishwasher on. Lights dim. Thermostat up. Cushion placed at Ilya’s feet, not for Shane this time, but for Ilya. He demands Ilya’s clothes, gets him stripped to just his boxers, then does the same for himself. He flicks the TV on to a hockey documentary he’s been wanting to watch. And then he turns to Ilya with a grin.

“Ready!” He’s bouncing on his feet a little, and Ilya can’t stop the warm chuckle that escapes from him.

“Excited, kotok?” And Shane rolls his eyes and says, “You should be excited,” but in truth, Ilya feels a bit nervous. He wants this to work. He’s seen how this can be like an off button for Shane’s brain, and there are some days he needs that too. Shane must sense some of what Ilya’s thinking because he says, “It’s going to be so good. I promise,” and places a soft kiss on Ilya’s forehead. Ilya slaps his hands on his thighs, stands up, and says, “Ok, do your worst, Hollander,” and Shane just laughs.

Ilya gets settled on his knees, already grateful for the cushion beneath him. The season’s barely started, but it’s already been brutal, and Ilya’s body is a patchwork of bruises, some fresh and some fading. As he goes to his knees, he thinks about Shane’s promise and the stress of the season and how good it would feel to not think for a while. He hopes Shane is right.

At first, Ilya feels a bit unsure. He loves Shane’s cock in his mouth, of course, but he can’t help feeling that he should be doing something. He’s so aware of the weight of Shane’s cock on his tongue, and shouldn’t Ilya be sucking him down, or bobbing his head? (No, Shane had said at dinner, cheeks pink, I want this to last) And Shane’s thighs are right there, so close they brush his ears, and isn’t Ilya supposed to be gripping them, guiding Shane deeper into his throat? (No, you’ll keep your hands still, too). And Ilya can hear the murmur of the talking heads on the documentary and the soft hum of the dishwasher, but he doesn't hear Shane groaning, oh, oh, fuck, yeah baby, just like that, so the whole thing feels a bit pointless. 

But then Shane spreads his thighs a bit more, and Ilya sinks down a bit lower, gets his nose pressed right up against Shane’s belly. And Shane is mostly soft, but he lets out a sigh and a “so good, Ilya,” and, ok, that is nice. And then Shane does something Ilya doesn’t expect. Two fingers tap Ilya’s chin, look at me, so their eyes are locked when Shane says, “Please, Sir, may I touch your hair?” and oh, fucking hell, Ilya might die right here. They’ve tried our sir once or twice, and every time Ilya’s brain short-circuits. It’s the way Shane says it, a little breathless and eager. It’s the way it makes Ilya feel, trusted and powerful. And Shane is looking at him now with so much love in his eyes and waiting so patiently for an answer, fuck.

Ilya nods as best he can in this position, and Shane says “Thank you, Sir,” and Ilya groans and sinks down down down as Shane’s hands find his hair. And then it’s all gentle tugs on his curls and Shane’s strong fingers running over his scalp, and someone is moaning, and oh, that’s me, Ilya realizes. Ilya spreads his knees a little wider, sinks into his body a little more, and that earns him a, “That’s right, Sir. Get comfortable."

Jesus, Shane is going to kill him. 

They stay that way for a while, Shane’s lovely fingers in his hair and Shane’s perfect cock in his mouth. Shane’s hard now but seemingly in no hurry, just keeping his hands tangled in Ilya’s hair and saying, “Love your mouth, Sir,” and “Sir, you’re taking me so good,” and Ilya is…he’s not floating, not like Shane gets, but his mind is calm in its own way. It’s just that somehow Shane has crowded out everything else. Or narrowed it down, maybe, made it seem small and insignificant compared to Shane’s strong hands and thick thighs and big cock. 

And then Shane says, “Sir?” and gives Ilya’s hair a little tug, like maybe he’s been asking for a while, and all Ilya can do is give a questioning groan, taking Shane out of his mouth to answer is unfathomable, and Shane asks, “Sir, can I fuck your mouth, please?” And suddenly Ilya has never wanted anything more in his life. He moans, long and low, and his own hips fuck up like he’s the one asking, and Shane just says “Oh, thank you, Sir, thank you,” before he tightens his hands in Ilya’s hair and starts to move. 

Ilya feels delirious. He knows he’s drooling, but he can’t stop it. He’s hard, he thinks, but it’s difficult to tell when his whole body feels like a circuit of pleasure stemming from the point where his mouth meets Shane’s cock. Every time Shane fucks in deep, he says, “Thank you, Sir,” and every time Ilya answers with a whine. When Shane pulls back, Ilya can taste the pre-cum on his tongue, and his own cock leaks in response. Shane’s pace is steady, and his body is strong and solid, and Ilya’s mind is blank but for Shane Shane Shane. 

“Sir, oh, oh, it’s so good. I think I’m—you’re gonna make me come,” Shane gasps out, and Ilya wants that, desperately. “Please, please, Sir, can I come?” And it’s almost too much, Shane begging like this and calling him sir while he’s holding Ilya’s head tight and fucking deep into his throat. He feels so powerless. He feels so powerful. 

Ilya isn’t sure what noise he makes to signal his permission, but Shane, perfect Shane who understands everything, knows a yes for a yes. He fucks his hips up one last time as he shudders and shakes and spills. Ilya’s shaking too, and he can’t stop it. He feels like he’s might fly apart into thousands of pieces, but then Shane says, “Sir, let me—” and strong arms are hauling Ilya up and settling him on the couch, and Ilya’s got a lap full of Shane, Shane who is saying “Want to make you come, Sir, can I?” and Ilya nods, he thinks, but mostly he keeps his eyes fixed on Shane, Shane who unraveled him completely, Shane who will put him back together. And then Shane’s warm hand is wrapped around Ilya’s cock, and Shane is saying, “Please, please, Sir, give me your cum. Please, can I have it? I need it, I need it so much,” and Ilya, who can deny Shane nothing, gives him what he needs. 

Happy suck him off Sunday, Sir.

[kitchenisking]

🤩🥵❤️

[medrawawi]

[kitchenisking]

🥰😍❤️

[oshell-on-ice]

I think at some point Ilya’s therapist gets concerned by what seems to be a codependent and anxious attachment btw Ilya and Shane. When Shane the Doer hears about it, For the sake of his husband’s mental health’s improvement and the preservation of a healthy marriage, he convinces Ilya to try installing boundaries and do activities separately. It lasts a week before Ilya comes home sobbing from a video game session with Troy communicating that if they keep this boundary thing up he’ll need to switch his meds’ dosage because he’s miserable. Shane jumps from the couch he’s been sitting on for 40minutes because he was supposed to eat diner with rose but he kept wanting to make jokes and look at ilya to see him laugh but he wasn’t there and it SUCKED OMG and Shane starts sobbing too because if they keep this up he will have to get on his own meds and let’s never do this again I hate it when I can’t smell you near me

[hyphenemdash]

situationship to codependency final boss actually

[sabotage-on-mercury]

Shane has a spreadsheet where he catalogs the name of every player who fouled Ilya, complete with exact date, time stamp, infraction, penalty called yes/no, personal confrontation, risk of repeated offence, and Shane meticulously updates his list after every game. Ilya thinks Shane is noting down hockey stats and Shane doesn't even need to lie when he agrees because, yes, this is the most important hockey stat ever collected.

The thing is, there is protectiveness and there is Shane Hollander's protectiveness over Ilya.

It's not a secret that Shane plays particularly ruthless against opposing players who fouled Ilya, hitting the ice with so far unknown levels of ferocity and dragging the entire team with him to mow down their opponents.

Ilya is flattered, or more precisely in a liminal space between horny and moved to tears, whenever he sees Shane step up to defend his honour, because yes this is his pretty, funny, polite, hyper focused future hall of fame hockey star of a husband, but all canadian manners and professionalism are forgotten the second someone dares to look at Ilya wrong, because first and foremost, Ilya is Shane's baby. That's heady as fuck.

That was until Ilya found the spreadsheet on Shane's phone. Neither of them has any desire to look into the other's phones but they are on share the same toothbrush levels of codependency, so it's a no-brainer that they let each other use their phones if needed.

After a grueling home game, a hard fought win, they basically collapse on their couches, when Ilya suggest ordering food in, the meal prep just doesn't cut it today, and Shane agrees.

Ilya's phone is dead (damned candy crush) and he just makes grabby hands for Shane's phone, "give". Shane more than a litte exhausted is glad that Ilya takes over the decision making on what they should eat, hits a button and tosses the phone over to Ilya and rest his eyes for a moment.

It is pure accident that Shane missed the button to close his notes app, so immediately when Ilya opens the phone the color coded spreadsheet jumps into his view; initially Ilya wants to dismis it quickly but fuck, why does Shane keep a list of names active male hockey players?? Is this a list of guys he finds attractive??

He frowns, carefully scrolling through the rows of names and their demeanours and fuck???? Does Shane fancy bad boys?

He makes a grumbling sound that pulls Shane out of his highly efficient minute nap.

"'s up? That Italian place closed?"

"Shane, what is this?"

"Wut?"

"Is this a fuck list, Solnyshko?" Ilya pouts, more attitude than actual anger, that is simply too good of ammunition to tease Shane with.

"The fuck you're talking about?" Shane is definitely awake now.

"Is this a list of guys you want to fuck you?" Ilya taunts, keep on scrolling through the list.

"I don't have a fuck list!" Confusion and irritation cloud Shane's face.

"O'Neil, Schneider, Fitz... why is Wilson listed twice?"

Ilya looks up, turning the screen around and a grin on his face and Shane's mouth falls open and he turns red - but not the caught-being-a- horny-bastard kind of red.

Shane jumps forward to snatch his phone back but Ilya anticipated that move and hides the phone behind his back and starts wrestling Shane. Ilya barely wins the fight, luckily he knows Shane's ticklish spots so well, and they both start laughing, and Ilya is pinning Shane to the couch by collapsing on top of him and they catch their breaths.

Ilya produces the phone and looks at the document again, with his chin propped on Shane's chest.

"Okey. No fuck list, obviously. You only want to fuck good hockey players."

"And why do I let you hit then?", Shane grumbles, but a playful spark in his eyes.

"Bescause I'm not good, I'm best hockey player", Ilya grins, eliciting an eye roll from Shane that can't diminish his fond smile. "Second best maybe."

Ilya peppers a few kisses on Shane's chest before studying the list again and realisation dawns as he looks at the most recent entries.

"Gustavson, high sticking. Foster, roughing. That is from today."

Shane starts squirming again but Ilya just makes himself heavier on top of Shane to stop him.

"You keep track of people hitting us?"

"No..."

"Still a bad liar, Hollander."

Shane sighs. "Only you. The guys who played dirty against you."

Ilya has to let that sink in for a while, equal parts touched and confused. "But why?"

"Don't laugh ok?" Shane looks Ilya straight in the eye and the determination in his face sends a pleasent shiver down Ilya's spine. "I know that this is petty, okay. It's unsporting and too personal, like that's not what Hockey is about... but it is personal to me, okay?"

"Shane..."

Capitalising on Ilya's momentary weakness, Shane frees one arm and cups Ilya's cheek, his earnest dark brown eyes are hypnotising as he quietly speaks. "I don't like it when you get hurt. And I want to make sure these guys never do it again."

Ilya let's out a stream of consonants and fractured expletives, and fights the urge to bury his face in Shane's chest, losing it ultimately.

He squeezes Shame as tight as he can, his Shane, his sweet, protective, wonderful Shane who never fails to suprise him, and Shane nuzzles his cheek against Ilyas head in answer. A few moments pass, and suddenly Ilya has to giggle, because yes this list is absolutely fucked up and probably one of the most romantic things Shane did, and Ilya loves it. "That's fucking insane", he let's Shane know, smiling brightly.

"Yes. Because I'm fucking insane about you, baby", Shane says quitely and with so much sincerity that Ilya melts again against Shane's chest, listening to his strong heart, beating just for Ilya.

Shane let's Ilya crush him untilhe gets squirmy again in his trapped state and Ilya gives Shane's other arm free and immediately gets rewarded with Shane's fingers playing with his hair.

Ilya sneaks a last glance on the spreadsheet before he actually wants to order them food (Shane's heartbeat can only drown out his grumbling stomach so much), and spots the next column.

"Retilition successful? Seriously Shane?"

"Yes!?"

"I thought you want to teach them manners not punish them."

"Well, that kinda goes hand in hand, doesn't it."

"But Retiliation?" Ilya grins brightly. "You sound like fucking mafia, Solnyshko."

"I do not!"

"Shall I call the bratva for some tips, da?"

"Don't be silly."

"No, please tell me, what is your plan for retiliation, hm?"

"That is not exactly a plan. I just hoped that I could convince Coach to put me on the shifts against these guys for our next games. And then we'll see."

"We'll see? You wanna kneecap them or what? Land yourself in the sin bin?"

"Obviously not. I'd be cleverer than that."

And Ilya doesn't doubt that for one second.

"You're right, we won't need bratva, we got criminal mastermind here with hitlist spreadsheet."

"It's not a hit list!"

"If it's not a fuck list, it's definitely a hit list, Shane. Maybe we should give you new nickname. Killer, maybe."

"Stop it, I'm not injuring anyone. Not badly anyway. Mostly I want to embaress them on the ice and dress them down But you can't expect me to watch people hunt you and think they can get away with it!"

That shuts Ilya up quite effectively.

Shane pouts up at Ilya, his eyebrows still pinched together decisively. "Too far?"

Ilya immediately shakes his head. "No. Not if it's you."

"But you still think this is crazy."

For a moment Ilya considers that he might be married to a hockey terrorist and he finds that he doesn't mind, quite the contrary. "If it's crazy then we are crazy together." And he kisses the rest of Shane's frown away from his face.

"My knight in shining hockey gear", he grins before finally pressing a hot and greedy kiss on Shane's lips.

[kitchenisking]

🤩🤩❤️

[my-castles-crumbling]

suit - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 599 - ao3 request - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

It was stupid, to feel nervous. 

At least, that’s what Shane told himself, as he paced around his hotel room in Vermont, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. 

Except…he was. Nervous, that is. Because he and Ilya hadn’t seen each other since before preseason, and now…now they were meeting up.

They were no stranger to clandestine meetings in hotel rooms, to be sure. But this time was different. They’d intentionally carved out this time, meeting in a city halfway between them both, booking a room specifically to see each other. It made the whole thing feel much more real.

And it was, wasn’t it? 

They were boyfriends now. They texted, talked on the phone, kept each other updated on mundane things like what they’d eaten or when they’d last jerked off. 

And it’d been good. Full of hilarious, bickering chirps over text and phone sex that’d left him seeing stars. Confessions on facetime and nights falling asleep with a smile on his face. It was so fucking good that Shane was terrified. What if, when they saw each other again, it somehow all went to shit?

So he paced back and forth, waiting for Ilya to arrive, trying to convince himself that he would be okay if something happened. That he would be able to go on, if his heart was ripped from his chest. 

(He lied to himself a lot.)

A soft knock on the door made his stomach lurch, and for a moment, he wildly considered throwing up.

Instead, though, he shakily grabbed the door handle and pulled it open.

And…

Oh.

How was Ilya even more handsome than he remembered? Facetime couldn’t possibly do the man justice, a piece of technology as inept as a cell phone camera unable to pick up the way his easy smile and beautiful presence took the air from the room in the best way.

As soon as Shane saw him, he wanted to fall to his knees, but something held him back. “Hi,” he said softly instead, because what else could he say? He’d forgotten how to speak, his brain too focused on the way Ilya’s eyes were alight with joy; sparkling with what looked like happy tears.

“Hi.”

His voice was soft, too. Gentle, like Ilya was just as terrified to break the spell they’d cast. Reverent. Warm, worshipful.

“You’re–you’re here.” He didn’t need to point it out. But he did because all of a sudden, the ache he’d felt for weeks, the way he’d missed Ilya more than breathing, had welled up inside him, constricting Shane’s ability to breathe.

They still hadn’t touched, hadn’t reached for each other, but the tension in the air was so thick it could have been snapped in Shane’s palm. 

Ilya smirked a little. “You are, too. And you are not wearing suit. I am disappointed, I think.”

It took him a second to understand. He’d told Ilya the story of how he’d put on a suit before they’d first hooked up as teenagers one night on a phone call, needing to hear his boyfriend’s laugh. Of course, he’d regretted it ever since. 

Beaming, Shane shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Asshole.”

And then…they made eye contact.

It was like magic. Both men snapped together like magnets, connecting their lips, grabbing for jaws and hair and waists, swallowing each others’ moans, stumbling into the hotel room with such desperation Shane’s whole body shook.

And as Shane finally–finally–sank into the mattress with Ilya, he let out a sigh of relief. God, yes. This was real. And neither of them were going anywhere.

[kitchenisking]

🤩❤️

[carnationsyouhadthoughtwereroses]

Day 26 (Emotion) - @hollanovmicrofic - 496 words

"Do you play?"

Ilya startles at the voice, hitting the wrong key and messing up the scale. He's about to utter an apology (for poking around without permission, for even being in their house, for sleeping with their son for years under their noses), but it dies on his tongue at the sight of David's smiling face.

"Ah no," he responds instead, "My mama tried teaching me when I was younger, but I would not sit still long enough."

David lets out a low chuckle at this, walking into the room proper to stand beside Ilya. "Yeah, Shane was the same," he says, pointing to a picture frame sitting on top of the piano depicting a young boy grinning up at the camera, "Yuna and I tried to teach him every summer when we came up here, but once he got hooked on hockey.."

"Was hard to get him interested in anything else," Ilya finishes the sentence. A short pause, and then he presses on. "Do you play?"

"A bit, but I suppose I'm probably a litle rusty now. Bet your mom was pretty good though?"

"Yes," Ilya says, in the gentle tone he always took on when speaking about his mother, "I think she played more before marrying my father. But she would always talk to me about music. Rachmaninoff was her favorite, I think."

And then, because it had been a long day, and it felt like all they had been doing was spilling secrets,

"He never liked it when she tried teaching me."

"Your father?"

"Yes," Ilya mutters. He sneaks a sideways glance at David, and the sight of his rapt attention gives Ilya the courage to keep going. "He said that kind of stuff was not for boys."

"Well that's silly," David scoffs, "Most of these composers were men."

"My father was very old-fashioned. He did not believe men should be.." Ilya gestures vaguely, trying to pluck out the word, "emotional."

"And what did you think of that?"

"My mama always told me, 'Ilyusha, everything you do, you should put your heart in it.' I think I am very much like her." At this, Ilya's gaze shifts to the large window in the front room. He can just barely make out the figures of Shane and his mother, arms wrapped tightly around one another, and his eyes soften at the sight. David's eyes seem to follow his because the next words out of his mouth are,

"Well, guess your heart found its way into your gameplay after all."

They both stand there in silence for a few moments longer, each staring at the love of his life. When David proposes Ilya help him cook dinner, it feels like the final bit of awkwardness in the room dissipates. As David tells him stories about Shane's childhood, as the sound of the front door opening lets in the sound of his boyfriend's laughter with it, Ilya feels like maybe he can belong here someday.

[kitchenisking]

🥹❤️

[my-castles-crumbling]

silent - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 369 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

It took him about ten minutes to realize that they’d been sitting in silence. That even though Shane had been enjoying the quiet, his body buzzing with a ridiculously happy feeling at the way his toes tapped firmly on Ilyas as they sat, feet-to-feet, on opposite ends of the couch, Ilya was probably ridiculously bored just sitting here scrolling on his phone.

Shane swallowed, struggling to think of what to say. “Um. It rained today.”

Light eyes twitched up from Ilya’s phone screen. “Yes. I was there,” Ilya nodded, lips curling upward as he rolled his eyes almost fondly.

He swallowed, flushing. Fuck. He’d never been good at this. But shit, Ilya was looking back at his phone, and oh god, he must be so fucking bored. Shane had to decide what to talk about, fast.

“Uh. We can have hot dogs. For dinner later. I asked the lady at the store which kind was best, since…you know…I don’t usually eat them.” He said this fact like a peace offering, trying to prove that even though he sucked at talking, he did desperately want Ilya to have fun while he was here.

Again, Ilya looked up at him with amusement in his eyes. “Okay,” he murmured. But…he didn’t seem annoyed or upset to be here. 

It didn’t make sense.

And–fuck. Ilya looked back at his phone again.

“D’you want to–” Shane began, shifting uncomfortably, no clue where he was going with his offer but so damn nervous about Ilya’s attention slipping away.

“Shane.” Ilya put his phone down on his chest and looked at him, this time like he was looking through him, into the most vulnerable recesses of his soul. “Is okay. You do not have to…entertain me. I am here to be with you, yes? Is okay to just be quiet for a little. I am happy to just be here and relax, like you said. You do not have to…pretend for me.”

Relief, sweet and all-consuming, flooded Shane. Unable to stop the small smile that bullied its way onto his face, he nodded, looking to where their feet touched. “Okay,” he murmured, reaching back to his own phone.

He’d never felt more relaxed in his life.

[kitchenisking]

🥹😍❤️

[bugslibraryy]

Think of all the dumb flirting Shane and Ilya did when they finally got together. Like stuuuupid sappy in love hit that been swallowing down for years. Ilya walking into the kitchen after going for a run and kissing Shane’s ear and being like “I missed you so much” after being gone for less than hour. Ilya getting ready for a shower and Shane asking “without me?” Most importantly they do the whole ridiculous hand comparison thing. They are laying in bed, Shane sat over Ilya’s lap, hands playing as they chat. Shane flattens Ilya’s hand out with his own, presses their palms flat to each other, lined up and fingers fidgeting. And Ilya is like “your hands are so big” and Shane shrugs and he’s like I mean they are like yours and Ilya is like noo your fingers are thicker and longer, your palm is bigger too. And Shane is all like mmm I need them to be big my boyfriend has huge muscles he whispers and wiggles his eyebrows and it’s so stupid and corny and whatever Ilya is hard. Shane rides him with his hand gripping right to Ilya’s bicep, his other fingers pressed into Ilya’s mouth, wet with his saliva

[kitchenisking]

🤩🥰❤️

[shanehollandersfreckles]

“Like A Princess” by @shanehollandersfreckles

She’s been told 1,000 times not to go into their bedroom closet. There are “important things” in there. Daddy and Papa’s room was supposed to be strictly off limits when it came to hide-n-seek between 5 year old Natalyia and her 3 year old brother Nikolai. While her younger counterpart didn’t understand this, Natalyia knows because she’s been told several times. Despite the request, she still runs to their room and shuts herself in the closet as Nikolai babbles a rendition of numbers with his blue eyes closed.

Natalyia only ever lets her little brother struggle finding her enough to make it fun for him. Once he starts stomping and tears threaten to run down his adorable, cherub-like face, does she come out and pretend to scare him. She sits in the neatly organized closet and yanks down one of her fathers’ hoodies to cover herself with. Hopefully they’re too busy cleaning up from breakfast to spoil the game.

Minutes pass before Natalyia gets bored in the closet. She starts moving things around, trying to see in the dark what she can use to keep herself busy until Niko has the opportunity to find her. Tucking her long black hair behind her ears, she finds a few boxes. One labeled “Legal Documents”, whatever that meant. Another one labeled “Baby Memories - Natalyia Irina”. She opened it. It had her name on it after all! She found baby photos that must’ve been herself, a lock of her black hair (she gets from her Daddy) in a baggie, hospital bracelets, a paper with tiny footprints, and more. She shut the box and moved to the side to find a similar sized one, only with her brother’s name on it: “Nikolai David”. She found similar items in his box. She picked up the baggie with a lock of his golden curls. She giggled to herself because she remembers him throwing a tantrum getting his first haircut. Her Papa, with identical curls, may have cried more than Niko. Another box sits atop their safe in the corner that catches her eye. The safe, locked with a keypad and a password she will never have access to in a million years, doesn’t catch her attention like the box with Cyrillic lettering does.

She opens the old, water-damaged box. Inside, there are a few pieces of gold jewelry. Bracelets and rings. They are tarnished from years of wearing them. Small notes in neat handwriting. There are small bottle caps with Cyrillic on them she doesn’t understand. Her Papa could translate later when she brings him the box with questions. A few photographs, wrinkled by time, catch her eye. A beautiful, woman with eyes that remind her of both Papa and Niko stare back at her. She has a soft grin on her face. Her golden locks fall across her shoulders, where she has beauty marks across the skin. Another photo beneath it shows the same woman, holding a baby that looks like it could be Niko. He’s swaddled in thick, whoolen blankets. Snow piled behind the pair. The beautiful blonde woman has a toothy-expression, lips wide with a bright smile as she stares down at the baby in her arms. There’s a photo behind a few pieces of jewelry with the woman, the blonde baby, and a boy a little older than Nat herself. He’s holding the woman’s hand. He looks nothing like the woman and the baby. Maybe it’s the baby’s brother. Maybe he looks like the father. Kind of how Nat looks just like Daddy and Niko looks just like Papa. Natalyia is digging around and grasps onto one last photo before she freezes as she hears feet too heavy to be Niko’s get closer to the bedroom. Her tiny fingers grip the photo of a boy, probably a few years older than her, with a head full of blonde curls and a smile with a missing front tooth. He’s adorned in hockey gear and the beautiful woman, as Natalyia has now began referring to her in her mind as ‘The Princess’, is kneeling down her arms tight around the boy.

“Papa will help you, Niko. No tears. Is okey!” Her Papa always caves and helps Nikolai find Natalyia because he starts to feel bad when his son wanders aimlessly looking for his sister…even though it’s part of the game. She starts to shove everything back into the old box as quietly as possible. She knows she’s going to get a time-out if Papa tells Daddy she was in their closet. Plus, she knows asking for ice cream after dinner later will be a hard no after this.

“Where could Natalyia be? Hm, Malysh? Could she be hiding in bathroom?” He’s carrying Niko around because there’s an absence of tiny feet. Maybe she has time to run out and hide somewhere else.

“Potty!” Niko yells. They’re right next to the closet. They’re actually in the master bathroom inside the bedroom itself. Natalyia knows she’s going to be in so much trouble. Even if Papa helps Niko make a pitstop. They’re in the process of potty-training him, which could be of benefit to her right now. Sometimes Niko took forever and then tried playing in the toilet. Natalyia peaked out of the closet to get a look at her chances. Surprisingly, Niko’s pitstop was quick. Because the closet was supposed to be off-limits, Papa didn’t even check. He kept walking out of the room and went back down the hall. Natalyia let out a breath she had been holding and reopened the box to study the photos of the princess she has discovered. She was so distracted that she didn’t hear her Daddy’s footsteps into the bedroom. Nor when he yanked open the closet door and found his daughter sitting in a pile of hoodies she had pulled down and elbow deep in a box that she should not be looking in without permission. She didn’t understand her father’s rules. Neither of them made rules that actually made any sense.

“Natalyia Irina Hollander-Rozanov…what are you doing in our closet?”

“I’m playing hide-n-seek. Duh!” Oh, she was definetly going into time-out now. She looked like Shane Hollander but was all Ilya Rozanov in attitude. Her Daddy crossed his arms with a disappointed look. Her Papa came into the room now, Niko clapping and squealing in his arms.

“I found sissy!!” Niko’s claps and babbles faded as her Papa looked down at her hands. Her tiny fingers gripping the picture she had been last looking at. His Mama. Shane noticed the emotions hardening on his husband’s face and looked down at the picture.

“Nat, out of the closet please. We have told you several times this closet is off limits. We have important stuff in there.” He reached out his hand to her. She huffed and puffed.

“I was just looking at the photos of the princess I found! It’s not my fault Niko is bad at hide-n-seek and I got bored!” She turned to pick up the box. Shane took it from her hands.

“First of all, he’s three, Nat. He isn’t..good at anything yet…okay? He’ll get there. That doesn’t mean you can snoop.” Ilya had still stood frozen with a giggling Niko in his arms. Shane grabbed Niko from his arms and directed Natalyia to go into the living room. He handed Ilya the box with a kiss on his cheek. Ilya had tears on his waterline. He sat on the bed and looked at the photo of “the princess”. His beautiful but so, very sad Mama.

Shane was having a detailed discussion with his five year old daughter about not listening and not snooping. Ilya shoved the box back into the closet, wiped his eyes, and made his way to the living room. Niko reached up and grabbed at his legs when he came in. He scooped him up and looked at his daughter who sat on the couch with her arms crossed. She was in time-out he would assume.

“I just wanted to see more photos of the princess.” Shane looked to Ilya, who still had not said a word.

“Baby, that box is very important to Papa. It’s okay to be curious but you have to ask permission to do things sometimes. Now, what princess are you talking about?”

“The one who was holding the baby that looked like Niko! She had pretty blonde hair and pretty teeth and she had eyes that look like Papa’s!” Shane’s realization hit. He never even looked at the photo for more than a few seconds before reprimanding Natalyia. Ilya smiled for the first time this entire ordeal. It didn’t reach his eyes but it was a smile nonetheless. His daughter thought his Mama was a princess. A few tears spilled down his face.

“Who is she?” She asked.

If y’all want part two, I’ll write it!

[kitchenisking]

🥹😍❤️

[verna-the-raven]

Hollanov — Post Canon

Title: Polaroids ♡ (pt. 1)

Ilya bought a Polaroid camera & Shane thinks it’s very impractical because they have cellphones. Ilya takes pictures all summer and puts them in a binder for safekeeping.

One afternoon Ilya asks Shane to grab his credit card out of his wallet so he can buy something. Shane opens his wallet to look for the card and sees a 3 polaroids.

One is of Shane with Anya on the dock at the cottage. He remembers that day well because Anya decided to roll around in muddy water and shook dirt all over them.

The second photo is one of them looking at each other lovingly at Bood’s cookout. Ilya had asked Harris to take it because he was a little too tipsy to keep his hands steady.

The last one made his breath stutter. It was one of Shane sleeping the morning after their wedding. They had been up all night and Shane had slept in later than Ilya. Shane was hit with emotion and realizes that the Polaroid wasn’t impractical after all. He puts the photos back and brings Ilya his credit card.

Later that night after they were both spent, Shane asks Ilya for his Polaroid camera. Although confused, Ilya obliges. Shane takes a few pictures of them lying in bed with each other and it warmed Ilya’s heart.

“One last one,” Shane says. “Lie on your back.”

Ilya does as he’s asked without a question and Shane straddles his hips. He angles the camera perfectly, catching Ilya’s perfect face and lovesick eyes. The Polaroid prints and Shane puts it with the rest of them to develop.

“Why so many pictures? You don’t even like the camera,” Ilya says.

“They’re for my wallet, so I can always have you with me.”

Ilya smiles and pulls Shane into his chest and mentally asks himself how he got so lucky.

[kitchenisking]

🥹😍❤️