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Everything I write goes to my ao3 ! I am no longer posting to Tumblr due to the way writers have been being treated, especially in the "Pedro fandom," and particularly related to theft and bullying.
I will put an ao3 link on a post and explain what I have written here, to signal boost. If you sub my page on ao3, you'll get my updates from minute one! Remember, ao3 is an archive, not social media! There is no algorithm! Search for what you like, use your filters, and curated stories will turn up! If you tap that above link, it will take you to one of my works. Tapping my name from there will take you to my ao3 dash. I do have guest reading turned off, so you will need a profile to read, kudos, or comment! Again, this is due to an increase in bullying and theft, as well as bot traffic.
I write or have written for:
(deep breath) Heated Rivalry/Game Changers (spec Hollanov), Wolverine/Logan Howlett, Sherlock, Preacher, Dragon Ball Z, Supernatural, Good Omens, Justified, The Mandalorian, Prospect (2018), The Last of Us, Triple Frontier, Moon Knight, The Bubble, etc, and currently have over 70 works. Feel free to binge! Most of my work is M/M, bi, or poly dynamics. I do have some BDSM-y works but they are tagged.
A note about me, personally:
I DO NOT get turned off by spamming likes on my posts or tags!
PLEASE reblog my works to spread viewership!
You can ask me anything!
I do NOT take requests at the moment, nor do I really do drabbles. I write long, primarily fluffy or hurt/comfort explicit pieces.
Now to the good part: the works!
Pedro Pascal Masterlist: link
Logan Howlett/ Wolverine Masterlist: link
Hollanov (Shane Hollander / Ilya Rosanov) masterlist: link
Oscar Isaac Masterlist: link
Other Works Masterlist: link
Justified (Raylan Givens/ Boyd Crowder)
Preacher (OTP: Jesse/ Tulip/ Cassidy)
Good Omens (Ineffable Husbands, Crowley/ Aziraphale)
He sits with this information the rest of the day and then when theyre getting ready for bed ilya is like "Moy lyubov you have been so quiet this afternoon what are you plotting" and shane goes "i want you to get me pregnant and i'm sad you can't" and ilya nearly blacks out he gets so hard so fast. by god hes gonna try his damnedest
Standing by my belief that Shane has fully rewired intimacy in his own mind because of his particular sexual history with Ilya Rozanov.
The body craves intimacy. It enjoys feeling safe, loved, appreciated. Touch starvation is a real thing that can cause real stress. People start to get real weird if they don't engage in any sort of intimacy for a long time. Talking to friends, confiding, cuddling, sexual intimacy, bedsharing, even petting an animal--these things are intimacy. They keep the body regulated. They release chemicals that make us feel better.
So Shane has this Thing with Ilya Rozanov. This deeply problematic fucked up thing that he MUST PUT AN END TO--but he won't. And Shane, so he has discovered, has an appetite for sex. He never percieved himself as someone who did until Ilya Rozanov cracked him open (physically, conceptually, emotionally) on his dick that night in Montreal, but yes. He is a person who feels better, more himself, more regulated perhaps, after he has sex. It feels good. It feels right.
Shane is also a person who grew up with plenty of platonic intimacy and affection--parents who hugged and kissed him whenever he wanted, who he could confide in. He also, at some point, became a very lonely child outside the safety of his own home. It really IS lonely at the top. The boys in his room always adored him but considered him vaguely untouchable. The boys outside his room were jealous and mean about it. Girls were--better left unconsidered. Nice, but in ways that Shane didn't know how to address. And expectant, after a certain age. Or so it felt.
Ilya, due to the nature of their relationship, becomes one of the most consistent venues of intimacy in Shane's life just by virtue of being one of the ONLY venues of intimacy that Shane has. And more or less the SOLE source of sexual intimacy--which Shane has now established with himself is something that he needs.
But their sex is not what is traditionally considered intimate. It's quick, a lot of the time. It's rough. Shane has an appetite for these things too--he loves the sex he has with Ilya. He loves the challenge of it, the way they push each other. He loves to choke, down on his knees. He loves the sensation of Ilya's whole body weight pressing down on the side of his face. He loves being called a slut, whore, hole. Ilya slaps his ass and says, "Come on, Hollander, I know you can cum on this big dick," and Shane feels appreciated. He feels acknowledged.
So when they are officially together, and there are feelings involved now--or, rather, they are allowed to show their feelings--it's a little overwhelming. Because Shane has never really crossed the streams of those two sources of intimacy before. Without his strict permission, his brain has thoroughly compartmentalized those two things--the overwhelming relief and release of sexual intimacy and Ilya, versus the gentle pressure of emotional intimacy, the way it seems to cradle his brain and body when he's with someone he knows loves him.
And once Ilya is both of those things--bringer of Shane's deepest pleasures and also someone he knows loves him, loves him in ways that he's only just learning a person can be loved--it is, for awhile, almost too much. Ilya'a favorite thing for awhile is testing the edges of this new awareness within Shane, seeing how many times he can call him sweetheart and say oh my love, my sweet boy, sweet thing, how does that feel my baby--before Shane is just. Aaaaall the way down. Before he's whimpering and crying and completely untethered. And then Ilya brings him back a little, with a slap or a bite. Flipping Shane onto his belly and telling him it's time to do what he was made for, now. Time to spread his legs. Just because I fell in love with a whore doesn't mean I don't expect him to do his job.
Ok, what if when two soulmates happen to be in front of a mirror at the same time they can see each other? It starts almost immediately so Shane at three or four is sitting on his parents' bed watching his mother get ready and instead of himself he sees another little boy with a halo of curls. They stare at each other. Shane, confused, waves. His wrong reflection does not wave with him. The other boy tilts his head and blinks in confusion. His mother doesn't notice. After a beat, the other boy pulls a face at him and sticks out his tongue. Purely on instinct, Shane sticks his tongue back out at him. They both laugh and then the other little boy freezes and runs off. Shane's reflection returns.
"What's funny, baby?" his mother asks.
"Nothing." Shane says because he has no idea what that was.
It takes awhile for happenstance to strike again, and even then it's only glimpses for awhile. Then at ten, they move and Shane has his own bathroom with a big mirror. Sometimes when he's getting ready for school in the morning, brushing his teeth, the other boy is there instead, but he's dressed like he's going to bed. By now, Shane has heard about soulmates, he wonders if the other boy has too. So Shane mouths 'hi'. The other boy frowns and mouths back something else entirely. When Shane shakes his head, the boy wrinkles his nose. It takes a few tries before Shane painstakingly writes a message out backwards and show it to the mirror 'My name is Shane. I speak English. You?'
The other boy stares at the words, frowns and then runs off. Shane waits and even though he winds up almost missing the bus it's worth it because the other boy holds up a sign with weird lettering, but he's patient enough to hold it until Shane can take a picture with his Polaroid. It takes weeks of looking in the library (Shane doesn't ask his teachers much of anything usually and anyway, he doesn't ever know what to do with himself during library time, so it gives him a project). He determines the other boy is using Cyrillic. This explains less than he'd like. The school library doesn't have any books about Cyrillic. Defeated, he finally caves and tells his parents "I see a boy in the mirror, he uses this alphabet, can I get a book?" His mother hugs him very hard. Soulmates, he learns, are rare and precious. He also learns that maybe his parents were worried about him in ways that don't entirely make sense, but okay. Fine. Glad we squared that away. Can I have a dictionary now?
If it had been two years later, he might not have asked. He would have been too afraid of what it might mean to have a male soulmate. Lucky they moved. Lucky that they brush their teeth and the same time.
Shaky-handed characters and pantomime get them to 'Ilya' and 'Shane'. A lucky glimpse in a locker room bathroom gets them to 'hockey'. They start to use clocks to make sure they don't miss each other. When Ilya misses one of their schedule times, Shane can barely think about anything else all day. He knows they won't have a chance again until tomorrow, but when he goes to pee before dinner, he finds Ilya in the mirror, his eyes red-rimmed. For the first time, Ilya seems way too far away. Shane put his hand to the mirror and when Ilya put his hand up too and it's shaking, Shane wants desperately to be closer. That's how his mom finds him on top of the vanity which is not doing well with the weight of a preadolescent hockey player with his whole torso pressed to the glass. She doesn't make him get down. Maybe because he's crying too without any idea what they're both sobbing about. He won't for years.
It goes and goes. Shane interrupts Ilya getting ready to go out, finds him styling his hair. Shane mimics him with a smile and Ilya wrinkles his nose at him. Ilya watches Shane floss in bafflement, but takes up the habit too, seemingly so he can make fun of the faces Shane makes. When they happen to catch each other in hockey gear, they use their fingers to signal goals and assists. Shane keeps track in a little book that holds a lot of things. No one else can see Ilya, anymore than any one can see Shane on Ilya's side, but they learn to be careful in public restrooms, coming up with a clear subtle signal for 'not home' since they can't see the others location. They watch each other grow up. They learn how to write in each other's languages and backwards at that.
And finally, finally, comes the sentence that makes Shane's heart skip a beat. In Ilya's pretty handwriting (good even in his second language and backwards which makes Shane unbearably jealous and proud):
I will see you soon.
They meet at four sitting on their mother's beds across the world from each other. They meet at twelve, sharing a pain that doesn't need words to be clear. They meet at fourteen, Shane fresh out of the shower and Ilya shirtless, things wakening in Shane that he thought he would never understand. They meet at sixteen, hands pressed to the place on Shane's mirror that is always marred with fingerprints.
They meet at seventeen. Shane sees him across the parking lot and tries to stay cool, walking instead of running. He watches Ilya try to light his cigarette and gets there before flame touches it.
"You're not kissing me for the first time tasting like cigarette smoke, asshole."
"This is not romantic," Ilya protested. "This is not first time I hear your voice."
"I love you," Shane said irritably, "do not light that thing or I'll throw up."
Ilya's breath caught. "You do not know me. You do not love me yet."
"I do," Shane said stubbornly. Then he stuck out his hand, "I'm Shane Hollander."
With a smirk, Ilya took his hand. "Ilya Rozanov."
Shane didn't let his hand go. He held firm and Ilya didn't try to pull away.
"There, now we know each other. I love you. Kiss me."
"Shane. I have to go back. It is no good there if we..."
"I know. Mom read me a bunch of articles," Shane said with a shrug. "But there's no one else out here. Kiss here. Everything else later. Okay?"
"Okay," Ilya said.
They kissed in that terrible parking lot and Shane never wanted it to end. He pulled away with a soft sigh.
"Wow."
"Wow," Ilya repeated teasingly. "You will say this when we beat you too."
"Not happening," Shane laughed. He was still holding Ilya's hand, a circuit completed.
When Shane got back in the car, his mother asks, "How did it go?"
Shane has a number in his pocket and a promise for a mirror meeting tonight once Ilya's roommate goes to sleep that makes his ears burn.
"He's kind of an asshole," Shane said, delighted.
"Okay," his mother laughed. "I can't wait to meet him."
And it's not that it's easy. Ilya goes to Boston and Shane goes to Montreal. They will have years before they see each other more in person than through reflections. But when Ilya gets ready for game 7 of the Cup, he does it with Shane smoldering with lusty jealousy from twelve inches away. And when it's Shane's turn, Ilya wears his jersey alone in the privacy of his house so Shane can see it before he heads off to victory.
Even years later, when they're married and more often before a mirror together than trying to communicate through them, sometimes they do it anyway. If Shane is washing his hands, ready to go back out to a photoshoot, he'll look up to find Ilya flirting with him or holding up Anya to make her wave at him.
There is always a handprint on their mirrors.
Sometimes they are apart, but they are rarely alone.
Shane canonically dreams of getting fucked on center ice.
Headcanonly I think he also dreams of one of those stupid porno scenarios where he's like hogtied and blindfolded and like maybe spider-gagged in the locker room and the team (not necessarily his- either the metros or the cens) (ilya is definitely there) but like a group of at least 20 huge sweaty hairy muscular men like run a train on him and treat him like an object and use his ass and his mouth and dont touch his dick at all, and he's so sore and loose and wet and cock dumb and insatiably horny, and the last one to fuck him is of course ilya and shane comes so hard he blacks out (within the dream) and wakes up (within the dream) to round 2, or is it 3?
And he wakes up irl sweaty and hard as fuck and maybe he came in his underwear or like against Ilya's hip from rubbing off on him and he glances over and ilya is like 😏🙂↕️ spread 'em and shane spreads his legs so fast his hip cracks
One time after their outing/ wedding and after maybe a few seasons in together in Ottawa when reactions cool down, Ilya sees Celebrity Lip Sync Battle and begs Yuna to get them on.
She succeeds.
Ilya very much thinks he is going to beat Shane. Of course he is! Shane barely listens to music and dances like a stick figure (affectionate, but) so of course Shane will lose.
And then shane, who knows that ilya fully expects to win, goes so hard practicing that he pulls this off, and Ilya loses, and they go home and he's sulking and so hard he's nearly blind and demands a private show to soothe his injured pride and very, very interested cock.
My local Barnes had 2 copies of Numéro and the Timid I ordered 3 months ago (while high) (and forgot about til i got the shipping email) showed up at my door while I was at the mall 😅🤣
free use gf but she wants to fuck more than you can even keep up w so it’s kind of like having a fleshlight that whines and drips and complains if you don’t use it 3x a day
continuation of this short post where shane tipsily contemplates getting squished between ilya and marleau’s sweaty bodies <3
it’s been several months and shane isn’t even thinking anymore about getting panini-pressed between his husband and his husband’s bro-y best friend. it was buzzy and fun and ilya teasing him about it while they fucked afterwards was kinda hot but he’s done with all that now.
that’s the plan, at least, until he finds himself in a club. finds himself a little drunker than he intended. finds himself on the dance floor, ilya guiding him with long, sexy movements that keep them pressed together so nicely, chest to chest. it’s less dancing, to be honest, and more swaying. taking stock of each other’s bodies and following the ebb and flow of them. and shane is drunk and happy and a little turned on by his smoking hot husband so that’s why he reacts the way he does when it happens. when they’re suddenly not alone.
shane is perhaps hyperaware of cliff marleau’s presence tonight, but only in the way that ilya hasn’t gotten to see him in such a long time. it’s a reunion of sorts. so vibes are up. his husband’s happy and that makes shane happy, his slightly swimming brain latching onto the endorphins that spike around marleau like they’re his own.
it’s why his body reacts the way it does when one moment, things are footloose and fancy free, and then the next, there’s this solid, hulking weight settling behind him, not touching but unmistakably there. it’s marleau’s deep voice. marleau’s woodsy cologne. marleau’s heat, hovering just shy of shane’s back as he leans over his shoulder to shout something at ilya.
it’s loud as fuck in here, the bass sitting low in shane’s chest, so he really does mean shout. but ilya leans in a bit to catch his words. seamlessly. they’ve done this so many times, shane assumes, finding each other in clubs after inevitably splitting up. and that’s fine. that’s good. ilya’s laughing and he’s happy and that makes shane happy. and then the crowd moves.
it’s light - a ripple effect as a group of girls make their way through the sea of bodies - but it’s just enough, that adrenaline spiking with a top-off of sweet endorphins as suddenly, marleau’s body sinks in to press all along shane’s back.
it’s nothing. an accident. and yet shane’s heart suddenly bunny-kicks in his chest, the light squeeze of him caught between ilya and marleau’s chests sending a pulse of satisfied heat through his core. because neither of them are moving away. there’s a natural sway to them that comes from being in a crowd of bodies, but the extra space must’ve never freed up behind marleau after the girls passed. and all of the sudden shane’s brain and dick register that he’s stuck. that he’s squished, by firm muscles, from all sides.
he’s been in this position before. on a dance floor like this. rose kissing him, miles’s lips not so secretly brushing against the back of his neck. it’s not a new position, but tonight is nothing like that. right now, there’s nothing remotely sexual even happening. it’s just ilya talking to his friend. just having a moment. casual and circumstantial and yet shane’s skin is on fire. his muscles are screaming with relief, the beautiful satisfaction of the deep pressure surrounding him making his brain swim down deep.
ilya shouts something back to marleau with a devastatingly handsome smile. it gets both hands reaching over shane’s shoulders to give ilya’s a friendly rub and it’s too loud to catch. all shane knows is they’re both laughing now. they’re like boys again - a revisit to their clubrat days and they’re just as smooth and sexy but they’re mature now. stable. and shane is ilya’s, those big hands on his hips now that marleau’s snug against his back. there’s no room to actually dance and shane’s finding he couldn’t be happier about that, pulse thick and thundering in his ears as another wave presses in, marleau’s touch dropping back to clamp over shane’s deltoids as he’s forced to press forward again - so fucking tightly into him this time that shane stumbles that last half a step into ilya’s chest and fuck.
shane’s eyes flutter closed. hands fall to clutch into the back of ilya’s tank top. his dick jumps in his jeans as the heady pressure squeezing around him tightens. neither of the men seem to care that marleau’s all up on shane and maybe that’s normal. maybe that’s just the way the club scene is. you get cozy and flush against your best friend’s partner and no one bats an eye because it doesn’t mean anything. it’s just a spacing issue.
maybe shane’s the freak.
because he’s trying not to, but he can feel himself getting hard. he can hear all that teasing that poured from his husband’s lips after he admitted to hypothetically wanting this around that fire pit. the pressure. the trap. with this man specifically.
marleau leans his head back for a second and his warm breath fans against the nape of shane’s neck and suddenly, like a demon has possessed him, it’s taking everything in shane’s power not to back his ass up into marleau’s lap. to grind against him a little. just to see. god, he’s drunk. he needs ilya to take him home and fuck him. he needs to stay right here and live out his days crushed between these two sweaty bodies, their colognes mixing into this insane aroma that gets in shane’s head and makes him wanna do something crazy.
he just needs to recenter. steady his pulse. enjoy the pressure without equating it to something filthy, like he can usually do so well, but for some reason is struggling hard as hell with right now.
shane rests his chin over ilya’s shoulder with a hum. closes his eyes. remembers himself and where he is and opens them back up, making eye contact with a twink who’s watching him with what can only be described as biblical proportions of envy.
they need to leave. before shane does something stupid. before he ruins a friendship that’s been in the works for over a decade because he’s drunk and horny and can’t control himself.
shane lifts his head to brush his lips against ilya’s ear, but before he can ask, something happens behind them. whatever it is, it’s got marleau’s lap pressing up flush against his ass and god, it sends this buzzy pleasure through him so, so deeply and the noise escapes shane before he can reel it in. before he can act like he’s normal and not very obviously so fucking turned on between them.
he can feel ilya’s chest rumble. hear the smirk that’s dancing across his lips as he noses his way over to shane’s ear instead.
“soon,” he murmurs, and shane has no way of knowing how his eyes flick up to snag on marleau over his shoulder. “let us play with you a little longer.”
Look i can have writers block for 3 months or i can hammer out >2k of pure unadulterated filth in a fit of mania based off an absolutely sick tumblr post while on the clock on a random friday. Good news is you'll probably have a rare 2 fics in one week over on my ao3 😅🫣
wait okay one more take. the thing about shane is that he is so so brave even when he is so so scared, and he throughout both books is always the one who, when it’s down to the wire, keeps making the decision to push past his fears and desire to stick to the status quo and propel his relationship with ilya forward. so when people try to dismiss his choice to get engaged/go public (even though he’s terrified of the potential consequences) + tell crowell to go fuck himself when he’s offered the chance to go back in the closet (even though this is his life’s work going up in flames) + leave a toxic and abusive work environment (even though he’s going to leave behind the team he’s been the star of for a decade)……. and claim that ilya orchestrated the whole thing……. well no. it was actually #mybraveshane who did all of that
