Ceo of taking it to my penthouse and freaking it
Lil screenshot from @gorbo-longstocking’s Commodus fic hehe
styofa doing anything

Love Begins
noise dept.
NASA
KIROKAZE
Misplaced Lens Cap
No title available

No title available
Mike Driver
art blog(derogatory)

Janaina Medeiros
will byers stan first human second
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Xuebing Du
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

@theartofmadeline
tumblr dot com

Origami Around
todays bird
h

seen from Germany
seen from Canada

seen from Netherlands
seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Romania
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States

seen from T1

seen from Netherlands

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Brazil

seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
@rotprincess
Ceo of taking it to my penthouse and freaking it
Lil screenshot from @gorbo-longstocking’s Commodus fic hehe
This may piss people off but can we keep canonically gay characters gay in fanfiction? Male readers barely get representation as it is and shane is a canonically gay man who expresses that he doesn’t want to sleep with women, so when you write a threesome fanfiction with Ilya x reader x shane, the reader in all honesty should be a man due to shane’s sexuality
And yes i do know that shane states that he isnt into threesomes so realistically that wouldnt happen anyways but thats why its fanfiction.. but in my opinion its easier to look around that fact than it is to look around the fact that shane is gay and has no interest in women like that, its a major plot point not only for the show but also for his character, him not being into threesomes is just an opinion whereas being gay is not an opinion
Its just my opinion and you may not agree with me but it does bother me that im seeing alot of shane x female reader fanfics. Shane is for the boys not the girls
license to kill
˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ you're in vancouver filming the new james bond movie when you secretly ditch the media ban to watch shane hollander and the metros play the vancouver canucks. when you're caught by the press, you need to come up with an excuse for your presence — one that shane is able to provide.
˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ male!reader, shane x reader. reader is an actor!
˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ part one!
“And we actually have a famous face in the stadium tonight, Isaac…” The announcer calls over the speaker, interrupting the sweeping shots of the audience that had been playing on the main stadium screens during the intermission. You wince, pulling your baseball cap further down over your face and slouching down in your seat. Surely not…
Ah, fuck.
The Space Between Laps
Title: "The Space Between Laps": Heated Rivalry fanfiction
Pairing: Ilya and Shane x Reader Male ( poly relationship )
Genre: Sports Romance | Slow Burn | Polyamorous Dynamics | Formula 1 AU | Hockey AU | Mini series
Warnings: None (light emotional vulnerability only).
Summary: A chance meeting at a Grand Prix sparks something neither Shane nor Ilya expected—and forces them to consider making room for a third heart.
Shane has learned a lot of new things since dating Ilya Rozanov.
One of them is that Ilya does not do subtle awe.
The second the cars scream past the paddock for practice, Ilya’s entire posture changes—chin lifted, eyes sharp, attention locked in like he’s tracking prey.
“This is insane,” Ilya says, accent thickened by excitement. “They are going this fast on purpose.”
Shane smiles, hands in his pockets. “You say that like hockey isn’t violent chaos on ice.”
“It is,” Ilya agrees easily. “But at least I can see puck. Here? He goes past and—whoosh.” He flicks his fingers. “Gone.”
Shane laughs, then follows Ilya’s gaze to the Red Bull garage.
That’s when he sees you.
You’re standing with a couple of other drivers, race suit half-zipped down, hair damp with sweat, helmet tucked under your arm. You’re smiling—wide, easy, unguarded—as one of them says something that makes you laugh.
There’s something magnetic about you. Not flashy. Just… present. Like you belong exactly where you are.
Shane feels it before he understands it.
“Oh,” he murmurs.
Ilya hums. “Yes.”
Shane blinks. “You noticed too?”
Ilya shoots him a sideways look, lips curling. “Shane, I am not blind.”
----
They meet you accidentally.
Or maybe not accidentally at all.
You’re coming out of the garage when someone calls your name, and you turn—almost colliding with Ilya, who stops short with a startled, “Whoa.”
“Sorry,” you say immediately. “My fault.”
Your voice is warm. Friendly. You glance between them, recognition dawning. “Wait—aren’t you—”
“Ilya,” Ilya says, offering his hand without hesitation. “Hockey menace.”
You grin as you shake it. “I’ve heard.”
Shane steps in smoothly. “Shane. Nice to meet you.”
Up close, Shane notices the small things: the way your eyes flicker between them with interest, not confusion; the calm confidence in the way you stand; the faint tension under your smile that tells him you know exactly how dangerous your job is—and do it anyway.
“You guys enjoying the weekend?” you ask.
Ilya tilts his head. “Is loud. Is fast. I am concerned for everyone’s bones.”
You laugh, genuine and bright, and something in Ilya’s chest goes tight.
“Fair,” you say. “If it helps, we’re usually concerned too.”
Shane watches the exchange, something warm blooming behind his ribs. You’re easy with Ilya—unintimidated, amused, matching his energy without trying to tame it.
That doesn’t happen often.
Before you leave, you gesture back toward the track. “If you stick around for the race tomorrow, maybe I’ll give you someone specific to yell at.”
Ilya smirks. “I already yell at television.”
“Perfect,” you say. “Practice run, then.”
As you walk away, Shane realizes something alarming.
He doesn’t want you to go.
----
That night, they lie tangled together in the hotel bed, city lights bleeding in through the curtains.
Shane is quiet longer than usual.
Ilya notices.
“You are thinking,” Ilya says, fingers tracing idle patterns on Shane’s back. “Dangerous hobby.”
Shane exhales softly. “I like him.”
Ilya stills.
Then—slowly—he smiles.
“Good,” Ilya says. “Because if you said you didn’t, I would call you liar.”
Shane laughs quietly, then sobers. “You do too.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No deflection.
Ilya rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, expression unusually open. “I felt it immediately. Like—” He gestures vaguely at his chest. “Pull.”
Shane swallows. “Me too. And that scares me.”
Ilya nods, surprisingly gentle. “It should. It is big thing.”
They sit with it for a moment—the weight of possibility, of change.
Shane turns toward him. “I don’t want to hurt what we have.”
Ilya’s hand cups his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “We would not be replacing,” he says quietly. “We would be… expanding.”
Shane’s eyes sting. “You really think it could work?”
Ilya smiles, soft and certain. “Shane,” he says, voice warm with affection, “we are already disaster. Why not beautiful disaster?”
Shane laughs, breath hitching. He presses his forehead to Ilya’s. “We’d have to talk to him. Together.”
“Obviously,” Ilya says. “We do nothing separately. This is rule.”
Shane closes his eyes, heart racing—not with fear, but with hope.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s invite him in.”
Ilya grins, sharp and fond. “I like this plan.”
Outside, engines roar in the distance, the promise of speed and fire and futures yet unwritten.
And somewhere between the noise and the quiet, the shape of you begins to form in both of their lives.
───
My main masterlist
Heated Rivalry - masterlist
Holding the Third Star mini series - masterlist
The way im still seeing Shane Hollander x Fem!reader fics as if that man isn’t gay… guys can we stop this shit. Even when Ilya is involved, it’s so gross. Ilya is bisexual but Shane has no interest including a woman in the bedroom next to his lover
stupid dimples
pairing: clark kent x reader
warnings: PG-13, clark kent's dimples, standoffish!reader, lois and jimmy shipping it, reader being a perv kinda and a big fan of mr. superman, mentions of a condom, dork!clark, cocky!superman, he calls you ma'am once, everyone is clueless, mild sexual tension.
wc: 3.4k
note: this was actually the first fic i wrote ab clark, but it's just now leaving the drafts lol
masterlist
---
stupid dimples.
how you can be pissed off by a body feature is beyond you.
could you do something for Shane Hollander where m!reader has been his secret boyfriend since high school but the world only thinks youre best friends
Shane Hollander x male!reader
● you and Shane had been best friends since childhood
● but as you got older the friendship developed into something more
● the first time you kissed you were 15 and sleeping over at his place
● his parents had already gone to bed but you two stayed up watching a movie on the couch
● it was an innocent kiss only lasting a few seconds
● but you didn't talk about it for months
● you knew his dreams of being a professional hockey player and the taboo of being gay in the sport so you let it go
● but by the time you were 18 you had confessed your love for each other and promised to keep your relationship a secret
● you went to the same college and got to be roommates which made sneaking around not as difficult
● and then after college when he got drafted you moved to Montreal a few months after he did under the guise of getting a job offer there
● as he went into the public eye it was easy to hide your relationship considering you had a real alibi of being life long best friends
● and it made it not unusual for you to go to his games wearing one of his jerseys
● when he travels for away games you text for hours
● him saying how he wished you were in his hotel room bed with him
● you get to hang out with his teammates but they always tried to set you up with women whenever you went to bars so you eventually made up a story of having a girlfriend that lives in Toronto so they would leave you alone
● and when you come home from these hang outs he kisses you the second you step through the door after not being to get his hands on you all night
● on his days off since you can't really go out as a couple you stay in cooking together and playing video games
● and every summer you spend a couple weeks at his cottage where you finally get to just be yourselves without worrying about anyone else
● even though Shane never came out to his parents they started to assume you were more than friends during college
● they did their best to make you feel like part of the family without making it obvious that they knew something was up
● and they tried to drop hints over the years that they would be okay with you being a couple
● but Shane was now one of the most popular players in the league and he was still terrified of what it would do to his career
● it was hard, a decade of having to keep the true nature of your relationship a secret
● you even broke up a few times from the stress and pressure of it all
● but Shane always promised that one day when he retired it would be different
● that he'd be able to shout it from the roof tops how much he loved you
● that you'd get married, maybe even start a family without caring what people thought about it
● you were watching with Shane and his parents when Scott kissed Kip on live television
● he looked at you in a way he never had before
● maybe that day was coming sooner than he thought
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.
Is anyone else seriously disturbed by the usage of x reader fics when it comes to lgbt characters??? Like most, my fanfic origin story was wattpad, and I remember there being these weird Alec Lightwood stories on there with female oc’s 😐 like he don’t want the recipe to your peach cobbler bitch, he’s not bisexual, he’s not pansexual, he’s gayyyyyy, female readers and oc’s are so incredibly disrespectful with gay characters and I hate them 💗 that’s just an example tho, and this was brought on by Shane Hollander! Very much so gay, not bisexual, female readers should not be happening unless they’re ending like (dear) Rose. Like could you imagine if someone was making Robin Buckley x male reader??? It’s messed up both ways, but the female reader is definitely ‘normalized’ more for canonically gay characters and it is seriously gross and dare I say homophobic 😗
Sorry not sorry if you feel targeted by this, you should stop if you’re doing this xx
Ilya is bisexual, Magnus is bisexual
Shane is GAY, Alec is GAY
Ilya 🤍|| insta: wiiblerr
NON-PITT FRIEND SENT ME THIS??????????....... HAS THE EMO GERRAN HOWELL PLANE HIT THE TUMBLR TOWERS YET. I'M LOSING MY MIND
it’s bullshit that being under this much stress has yet to awaken my latent psychic abilities
It’s like… 4 pages of dicks
He caught you 👁️👁️
Another fanart based off @patheticwhitemenlover 's Dancing in the Moonlight Waterboy x reader fic .... Specifically from a scene in Part 3 ^^
why did i draw him so pretty
First thing I thought when I saw his stupid uniform
Running bit in the next game where every episode Flambae’s V gets deeper and wider