A little background on the name: Созвездие (sozvezdiye) is the Russian word for "constellation." Sozvezdiyay is a word I made up because I am very YAY about constellations, and so is Ilya in a fanfic I'm writing. My irl name is also Slavic and astronomy-coded; Soz seemed fitting.
I created this account for the sole purpose of sharing my Hollanov fanfiction. It's low-key terrifying writing for such a large fandom, so I wanted to be more anonymous before I posted anything.
I also wanted to be more unhinged and horny on main sooooo
You can find my AO3 here!
my tags:
#soz's fics
#soz's fic recs
#soz answers asks
#save for a rainy day (aka are you sad? click here!! these posts will make you happy!!! or at least they make me happy 🥹)
Anyway, feel free to chat with me any time! ❤️
P.S. - I make zero promises, but feel free to send me microfic prompts. You might get lucky 😘
For fic tropes, I have to ask about the classic: there was only one bed!
I wanted to rate this one properly with a little microfic, so that's why this ask took longer to answer! Classics are classics for a reason. I rate this trope an A+++++
There Was Only One Bed
Hollanov | M-rated | 1005 words
Also available to read on AO3 in my microfic collection!
~
A few months into Shane and Ilya's first season together on the Ottawa Centaurs, the team arrives in Minneapolis for a game the next day. When they get up to their hotel room, Ilya stops short and pauses. "There is only one bed."
Shane closes the door behind him and drops his bag to the floor, sliding off his shoes. "What? Of course there's only one bed."
Ilya ignores him and says, "Hmm, I will sleep on the floor. You take the bed."
Still, Shane doesn't understand. Is Ilya mad at him? Maybe he missed a social cue or a facial expression. "Why would you sleep on the floor?" he asks carefully.
"Because— is weird, sharing a bed with a new teammate, no? You are the star player. You need your rest for tomorrow's game. You take the bed."
Oh. Oh. Finally, Shane gets it. His eyes get darker and he says in his most innocent tone, "You need your rest too. You'll be uncomfortable on the floor. Come on, we can share a bed. It won't be weird."
Ilya raises his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Two teammates can share a bed. It's not weird."
Ilya strips off his shirt and says, "If you are sure…"
Shane swallows when he sees the wide, muscled expanse of Ilya's chest. "I'm sure."
They spend some time on their evening routines, brushing their teeth, setting alarms. Eventually they both strip down to their briefs—that's a respectable thing to wear in bed with a teammate, right?—and they climb under the covers. They lay on their backs, a safe distance apart, but it's a queen-sized bed and they're almost touching, just millimeters away from each other. Shane feels the heat radiating off of Ilya. Suddenly this roleplay all feels so real. He wonders if he's allowed to touch, but he doesn't. Instead, he says, "Okay, good night, I guess." He turns off his light.
Ilya turns off his light too. "Good night, Hollander."
They lay there for a while. So long that Shane starts to think maybe they're actually just going to sleep. Ilya's breathing evens out. Shane thinks it's probably for the best. Their flight had been delayed, and they didn't even arrive at the hotel until close to 1:00 a.m. They really do need to sleep. He closes his eyes and is just about to drift off when Ilya shifts slightly so that their shoulders are now touching. An electric shock jolts through Shane at the touch, every nerve ending on fire. Shane shifts even closer, desperate for more contact.
He knows he should try to sleep. They have a big game tomorrow. And Ilya seems to have had no problem falling asleep. But Shane feels wide awake. He can't stop thinking about the way their arms are touching, about how if he were to move his hand just an inch or two, he could hold Ilya's hand. He's never wanted anything more in his entire life.
He almost reaches out for the forbidden touch, but then Ilya rolls over so he's half on top of Shane, head on his chest, arm draped over him. It's sweet, the way his mouth slightly parts open in his sleep.
Shane tentatively wraps his arms around Ilya. If Ilya is asleep, then Shane is going to take this opportunity to be as close as he can. Playing on the same team has been such a thrill. He's felt like a teenager with the most debilitating crush on Ilya, ever since that first day of practice together. His new team captain is stunning. Shane finds himself sneaking glances in the locker room. One time, Ilya caught Shane staring and their eyes met and— Shane didn't immediately look away. He dared to hold Ilya's gaze just a moment longer. For the first time in his life, eye contact feels electrifying and beautiful.
Shane shifts beneath Ilya at the memory and wraps his arms even tighter around his back, reveling in the weight of him. Suddenly Ilya opens his eyes, and god he's right there, and Shane can't help it. He leans in to kiss him. Ilya lets it be soft and delicate, just barely brushing their lips together.
When Ilya pulls away, he says so quietly, "Are you sure?"
Shane feels Ilya's breath against his lips. The sparks are flying like that was actually their first kiss. He just nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Ilya kisses him again, deeper this time, tongue sliding over Shane's lip, grazing the roof of his mouth, hands roaming everywhere. When they're forced to break apart to breathe, Ilya leans into Shane's neck and says, "I've wanted to kiss you ever since you joined the team."
Shane bucks his hips up and feels Ilya's hard length against his own. He gasps, "Me too. Fuck, me too."
They grind against each other, finding a rhythm, and Ilya keeps murmuring things into Shane's ear, against his neck, into his hair. "I've been thinking about you for months. Can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop staring at you. As soon as you shook my hand, I wanted you."
His rambling devolves into Russian, and they're panting into each other's mouths, and they keep grinding and grinding, and they're still wearing their briefs, but it's so good and they don't want to stop. It feels like they're teenagers with their first love, their first ever sexual experience, pure instinct driving their movement. They're barely doing anything, but it feels as intense as a lightning storm.
Before Shane even realizes what's happening, his orgasm catches him by surprise and he's coming into his briefs. That pushes Ilya over the edge, and he comes into his briefs too.
Catching his breath, Ilya collapses on top of Shane, and he just starts laughing. Ilya shakes above Shane, peppering giggly kisses all along his cheek, jaw, chin, nose.
Shane smiles. "I'm really glad I joined the team."
Ilya presses one more kiss to Shane's lips. "I'm really glad you did too."
yuna knowing that ilya visited shane in the hospital cracks me up because HOW did she know that
like??? was she looking over a visitor log??? did the nurse happen to bring it up???
or was shane's high ass just circling back to it like, "also il-rozanov was here :) he came to say hi :)" "that's nice of him, sweetie." only to five minutes later swing BACK around to "oh, roz was here :) did i tell you he came to see me :)" "th-yeah, honey. that's really nice." and like seven more minutes pass and this high off his ASS boy just "is rozanov still here? he came to see me. :) did you know that? :)"
For fic tropes, I have to ask about the classic: there was only one bed!
I wanted to rate this one properly with a little microfic, so that's why this ask took longer to answer! Classics are classics for a reason. I rate this trope an A+++++
There Was Only One Bed
Hollanov | M-rated | 1005 words
Also available to read on AO3 in my microfic collection!
~
A few months into Shane and Ilya's first season together on the Ottawa Centaurs, the team arrives in Minneapolis for a game the next day. When they get up to their hotel room, Ilya stops short and pauses. "There is only one bed."
Shane closes the door behind him and drops his bag to the floor, sliding off his shoes. "What? Of course there's only one bed."
Ilya ignores him and says, "Hmm, I will sleep on the floor. You take the bed."
Still, Shane doesn't understand. Is Ilya mad at him? Maybe he missed a social cue or a facial expression. "Why would you sleep on the floor?" he asks carefully.
"Because— is weird, sharing a bed with a new teammate, no? You are the star player. You need your rest for tomorrow's game. You take the bed."
Oh. Oh. Finally, Shane gets it. His eyes get darker and he says in his most innocent tone, "You need your rest too. You'll be uncomfortable on the floor. Come on, we can share a bed. It won't be weird."
Ilya raises his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Two teammates can share a bed. It's not weird."
Ilya strips off his shirt and says, "If you are sure…"
Shane swallows when he sees the wide, muscled expanse of Ilya's chest. "I'm sure."
They spend some time on their evening routines, brushing their teeth, setting alarms. Eventually they both strip down to their briefs—that's a respectable thing to wear in bed with a teammate, right?—and they climb under the covers. They lay on their backs, a safe distance apart, but it's a queen-sized bed and they're almost touching, just millimeters away from each other. Shane feels the heat radiating off of Ilya. Suddenly this roleplay all feels so real. He wonders if he's allowed to touch, but he doesn't. Instead, he says, "Okay, good night, I guess." He turns off his light.
Ilya turns off his light too. "Good night, Hollander."
They lay there for a while. So long that Shane starts to think maybe they're actually just going to sleep. Ilya's breathing evens out. Shane thinks it's probably for the best. Their flight had been delayed, and they didn't even arrive at the hotel until close to 1:00 a.m. They really do need to sleep. He closes his eyes and is just about to drift off when Ilya shifts slightly so that their shoulders are now touching. An electric shock jolts through Shane at the touch, every nerve ending on fire. Shane shifts even closer, desperate for more contact.
He knows he should try to sleep. They have a big game tomorrow. And Ilya seems to have had no problem falling asleep. But Shane feels wide awake. He can't stop thinking about the way their arms are touching, about how if he were to move his hand just an inch or two, he could hold Ilya's hand. He's never wanted anything more in his entire life.
He almost reaches out for the forbidden touch, but then Ilya rolls over so he's half on top of Shane, head on his chest, arm draped over him. It's sweet, the way his mouth slightly parts open in his sleep.
Shane tentatively wraps his arms around Ilya. If Ilya is asleep, then Shane is going to take this opportunity to be as close as he can. Playing on the same team has been such a thrill. He's felt like a teenager with the most debilitating crush on Ilya, ever since that first day of practice together. His new team captain is stunning. Shane finds himself sneaking glances in the locker room. One time, Ilya caught Shane staring and their eyes met and— Shane didn't immediately look away. He dared to hold Ilya's gaze just a moment longer. For the first time in his life, eye contact feels electrifying and beautiful.
Shane shifts beneath Ilya at the memory and wraps his arms even tighter around his back, reveling in the weight of him. Suddenly Ilya opens his eyes, and god he's right there, and Shane can't help it. He leans in to kiss him. Ilya lets it be soft and delicate, just barely brushing their lips together.
When Ilya pulls away, he says so quietly, "Are you sure?"
Shane feels Ilya's breath against his lips. The sparks are flying like that was actually their first kiss. He just nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Ilya kisses him again, deeper this time, tongue sliding over Shane's lip, grazing the roof of his mouth, hands roaming everywhere. When they're forced to break apart to breathe, Ilya leans into Shane's neck and says, "I've wanted to kiss you ever since you joined the team."
Shane bucks his hips up and feels Ilya's hard length against his own. He gasps, "Me too. Fuck, me too."
They grind against each other, finding a rhythm, and Ilya keeps murmuring things into Shane's ear, against his neck, into his hair. "I've been thinking about you for months. Can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop staring at you. As soon as you shook my hand, I wanted you."
His rambling devolves into Russian, and they're panting into each other's mouths, and they keep grinding and grinding, and they're still wearing their briefs, but it's so good and they don't want to stop. It feels like they're teenagers with their first love, their first ever sexual experience, pure instinct driving their movement. They're barely doing anything, but it feels as intense as a lightning storm.
Before Shane even realizes what's happening, his orgasm catches him by surprise and he's coming into his briefs. That pushes Ilya over the edge, and he comes into his briefs too.
Catching his breath, Ilya collapses on top of Shane, and he just starts laughing. Ilya shakes above Shane, peppering giggly kisses all along his cheek, jaw, chin, nose.
Shane smiles. "I'm really glad I joined the team."
Ilya presses one more kiss to Shane's lips. "I'm really glad you did too."
Admittedly had to look this kink up because I wasn't 100% sure I knew what it was... But I feel like I could get really into this, both irl and in fiction. It's like a more primal version of CNC, and that intrigues meeeee. I haven't read too much of it, but if anyone has any Hollanov recs...? 👀
wound fucking:
irl-🚫(hate it. no thank you. not for me at all.)
fiction-⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (all time fave. need it in my life.)
In real life this is an extremely hard no. But in fiction.............. If it's done right, I will absolutely love it. I've only encountered this trope maybe three times, but I went feral for it. I've even written this for Hollanov. Maybe it's time to come clean and admit that I wrote this anon microfic in Lily's ask box. *runs and hides*
chastity:
⭐️ (indifferent. i have no horses in this race.)
Honestly I'm pretty indifferent to this kink. I'd be open to trying it I guess, if my wife wanted to... And in fiction, it's not my favorite, it's not my least favorite, it's just kind of there. I'll read it, but I'm not gonna seek it out.
For fic tropes, I have to ask about the classic: there was only one bed!
I wanted to rate this one properly with a little microfic, so that's why this ask took longer to answer! Classics are classics for a reason. I rate this trope an A+++++
There Was Only One Bed
Hollanov | M-rated | 1005 words
Also available to read on AO3 in my microfic collection!
~
A few months into Shane and Ilya's first season together on the Ottawa Centaurs, the team arrives in Minneapolis for a game the next day. When they get up to their hotel room, Ilya stops short and pauses. "There is only one bed."
Shane closes the door behind him and drops his bag to the floor, sliding off his shoes. "What? Of course there's only one bed."
Ilya ignores him and says, "Hmm, I will sleep on the floor. You take the bed."
Still, Shane doesn't understand. Is Ilya mad at him? Maybe he missed a social cue or a facial expression. "Why would you sleep on the floor?" he asks carefully.
"Because— is weird, sharing a bed with a new teammate, no? You are the star player. You need your rest for tomorrow's game. You take the bed."
Oh. Oh. Finally, Shane gets it. His eyes get darker and he says in his most innocent tone, "You need your rest too. You'll be uncomfortable on the floor. Come on, we can share a bed. It won't be weird."
Ilya raises his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Two teammates can share a bed. It's not weird."
Ilya strips off his shirt and says, "If you are sure…"
Shane swallows when he sees the wide, muscled expanse of Ilya's chest. "I'm sure."
They spend some time on their evening routines, brushing their teeth, setting alarms. Eventually they both strip down to their briefs—that's a respectable thing to wear in bed with a teammate, right?—and they climb under the covers. They lay on their backs, a safe distance apart, but it's a queen-sized bed and they're almost touching, just millimeters away from each other. Shane feels the heat radiating off of Ilya. Suddenly this roleplay all feels so real. He wonders if he's allowed to touch, but he doesn't. Instead, he says, "Okay, good night, I guess." He turns off his light.
Ilya turns off his light too. "Good night, Hollander."
They lay there for a while. So long that Shane starts to think maybe they're actually just going to sleep. Ilya's breathing evens out. Shane thinks it's probably for the best. Their flight had been delayed, and they didn't even arrive at the hotel until close to 1:00 a.m. They really do need to sleep. He closes his eyes and is just about to drift off when Ilya shifts slightly so that their shoulders are now touching. An electric shock jolts through Shane at the touch, every nerve ending on fire. Shane shifts even closer, desperate for more contact.
He knows he should try to sleep. They have a big game tomorrow. And Ilya seems to have had no problem falling asleep. But Shane feels wide awake. He can't stop thinking about the way their arms are touching, about how if he were to move his hand just an inch or two, he could hold Ilya's hand. He's never wanted anything more in his entire life.
He almost reaches out for the forbidden touch, but then Ilya rolls over so he's half on top of Shane, head on his chest, arm draped over him. It's sweet, the way his mouth slightly parts open in his sleep.
Shane tentatively wraps his arms around Ilya. If Ilya is asleep, then Shane is going to take this opportunity to be as close as he can. Playing on the same team has been such a thrill. He's felt like a teenager with the most debilitating crush on Ilya, ever since that first day of practice together. His new team captain is stunning. Shane finds himself sneaking glances in the locker room. One time, Ilya caught Shane staring and their eyes met and— Shane didn't immediately look away. He dared to hold Ilya's gaze just a moment longer. For the first time in his life, eye contact feels electrifying and beautiful.
Shane shifts beneath Ilya at the memory and wraps his arms even tighter around his back, reveling in the weight of him. Suddenly Ilya opens his eyes, and god he's right there, and Shane can't help it. He leans in to kiss him. Ilya lets it be soft and delicate, just barely brushing their lips together.
When Ilya pulls away, he says so quietly, "Are you sure?"
Shane feels Ilya's breath against his lips. The sparks are flying like that was actually their first kiss. He just nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Ilya kisses him again, deeper this time, tongue sliding over Shane's lip, grazing the roof of his mouth, hands roaming everywhere. When they're forced to break apart to breathe, Ilya leans into Shane's neck and says, "I've wanted to kiss you ever since you joined the team."
Shane bucks his hips up and feels Ilya's hard length against his own. He gasps, "Me too. Fuck, me too."
They grind against each other, finding a rhythm, and Ilya keeps murmuring things into Shane's ear, against his neck, into his hair. "I've been thinking about you for months. Can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop staring at you. As soon as you shook my hand, I wanted you."
His rambling devolves into Russian, and they're panting into each other's mouths, and they keep grinding and grinding, and they're still wearing their briefs, but it's so good and they don't want to stop. It feels like they're teenagers with their first love, their first ever sexual experience, pure instinct driving their movement. They're barely doing anything, but it feels as intense as a lightning storm.
Before Shane even realizes what's happening, his orgasm catches him by surprise and he's coming into his briefs. That pushes Ilya over the edge, and he comes into his briefs too.
Catching his breath, Ilya collapses on top of Shane, and he just starts laughing. Ilya shakes above Shane, peppering giggly kisses all along his cheek, jaw, chin, nose.
Shane smiles. "I'm really glad I joined the team."
Ilya presses one more kiss to Shane's lips. "I'm really glad you did too."
