An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov
Additional Tags: Trans Shane Hollander, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, First Time, as in first time vaginal sex woohoo, 2017 MLH All-Star Weekend in Tampa Bay (Game Changers), Episode: s01e05 I'll Believe in Anything (Heated Rivalry), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Summary:
“I want you,” Shane finally murmurs when he breaks the kiss again, hips pressing down against Ilya's. “Inside me.”
Ilya looks a little dazed, eyelids hooded, and he nods, one hand squeezing his ass again.
Shane breathes a laugh and shakes his head, his own gaze dark, face already a little flushed. “No,” he says after a moment, rocking his hips down again. “...In front.”
Or trans!Shane and Ilya share a big first in Tampa.
---
dedicated to @cuppydogshane, the king of trans shane ideas <3
Rumi is backstage when she receives a call from an unknown number, and within the next hour, she’s on a plane to Jeju.
(or: Celine hurts herself, and Rumi comes back home for the first time in almost a year to look after her.)
tags: Rule 63, (in addition to Armand and Daniel being genderswapped Alice is a guy named Alex. but he is narratively Alice), Devil's Minion Era (Vampire Chronicles), Location: Night Island (Vampire Chronicles), Menstrual Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnancy, Memory Loss
Chapter 1 (2.1k)
"You just get freaked out when I bleed through because it makes you hungry."
hhu x gn!reader. no warnings. pure fluff. barely proof read. est 300 words.
SEUNGCHEOL holds you in his strong arms, his whole front pressed into your back. the pressure of him wrapped around you feels more like home than anywhere you’ve ever lived. he could doze off at the snap of your fingers, but tries so hard to fight it until you get there too, and you never go to bed without him murmuring how much he loves you into the crook of your neck.
WONWOO tells you stories. sometimes he makes entire elaborate tales up for you. sometimes he just talks about his day. the low rumble of his voice across the space between you is the knight fighting the dragon breathing fire in your brain. your eyes always start to feel heavy before he can reach the end, his blinding, fond smile always the last thing you see.
MINGYU changes the bedding at silly o’clock in the morning and sprays lavender mist on your clean pillow. he gets you fresh pyjamas, fixes your favourite (uncaffeinated) hot drink. he knows you shouldn’t try to force sleep, so he sits awake with you at the breakfast bar until you start yawning. then, he insists on carrying you back to bed: he says that the walk might raise your heart rate and then you’ll ’lose the tired’. and well, you can never argue with those puppy-dog eyes.
VERNON sings to you. he can’t sleep if there’s background noise in the room, though he’s more than happy to provide it for you if it helps. he knows a few lullabies, but sometimes he can’t get through them without laughing; thankfully, there are a few songs he knows work like magic, and his soft, sweet voice quickly makes you feel like you’re floating. he keeps going for a few minutes after you’ve drifted off just in case you’re still in limbo; he settles down only when your breaths start to jump with the snores he’s grown to love.
thank you for checking this out! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all greatly appreciated.<3
“Hey, New York,” he had said, punctuating his sentence with a loud SLAM against her locker as he leaned against it. By this point, she had grown used to him sneaking up behind her and had barely had a reaction to it. She continued to place her textbooks into the locker and prepare for her next class, only sparing him a small glance as he continued. “Don’t make any plans this Saturday, okay? We,” he said, gesturing between them, “are going on a date.” She stood there frozen, textbook in hand, stuck halfway between her and her locker. A date?
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Jackie and Cole go on their first official date. Some things go very wrong, some things go very right.
If you're looking for kinda cutsie, with a little clash, or sexy vibes, I have Joel/Tess' apartment neighbors, who share a wall and hate each other's music, are stuck in an elevator.
If you're looking for an angsty vibe, I have Joel/Tess canon verse. They have a hard time on a run. Do with it as you please.
Okay I finally got to sit and write this one! And I had fun, so thank you for this. 🤭
x-x-x
The bass vibrates through Joel, cutting straight into the headache he’s trying to nurse with a beer. His shitty futon isn’t helping, the metal bars underneath digging into his back in a way that he’s sure will fuck with his sciatica. Going into construction right out of high school has not been kind to his still very young body.
How his brother is out prowling the bars right now, he has no clue. At least Tommy won’t be bringing around that one girl anymore. He might actually be able to get some sleep.
That is if his new neighbor can have some decency and turn the music down.
Joel hasn’t met the guy or even seen him, but the passive aggressive notes on his car, shoving mail under his door, kicking garbage bags to the curb, and now the vagrant disregard for decent noise levels have been going on for a week now. A goddamn week of this asshole not having the balls to come knocking and look him in the eye.
He’d really tried to let it go. There is no point in making enemies out of the guy who lives next door.
But blasting the music is his last straw.
Draining the last of his beer, he slams it onto the scuffed up coffee table, and groans as he lifts himself off the futon. Jaw clenched and fists tightened, he marches out of his apartment to pound on the door next to his.
For a moment, he wonders if his neighbor can even hear him over Nirvana. And if he could, would the guy even bother?
Just as he’s about to pound on the door a second time, however, the door swings open.
The person who greets him is not some beefed up jackass he’s gonna have to peacock a bit for. No.
The brunette woman peeks her head out just enough for him to tell that she’s in for the night. Her hair is up in a messy bun, a flannel over her faded AC/DC t-shirt and pajama shorts. The fuzzy socks on her feet with cartoon cats are in stark contrast to the rest of her outfit.
Her brow furrows. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah,” Joel bites, cutting to the chase. “You can turn your damn music down.”
She arches an eyebrow and folds her arms across her chest, posturing now in the doorway. “You live next door?”
“No shit.” He leans in a bit closer and flings an arm out, pointing down the hall. “And I’m sure I don’t need to share a wall with you to be the only one who can hear it. So, can you lower the volume?”
Her eyes narrow, venom oozing out of her, and he can’t possibly understand how the fuck she can hate him this much already.
“No,” she declares. “I can’t. I need the music to drown out the sound of you fucking your girlfriend or whoever she is every night.”
At that, he has to laugh, and he can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him.
“What?” she demands. “You think this is funny?”
“It kinda is actually.” He shakes his head. “You know, my bedroom ain’t even on this side of the apartment.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, gaping at him.
“That’s my brother’s room you share a wall with,” he tells her, now thoroughly amused. “Tommy. And trust me, you’re not the only one havin’ to drown ‘em out. That girl was a screamer, and probably not of his effort.”
The woman’s cheeks are scarlet now, though he suspects it’s less to do with what she’s been made privy to and more about what she’s accused him of. “I thought she sounded like she was putting on a show.”
The smallest silver of sympathy rises in Joel’s chest, and he chooses to try to keep his next words light. “Eh, he’s just a kid, barely of legal drinkin’ age. Man don’t know what he’s doin’.”
“I don’t care,” she straightens up, “I’ve still had to hear it. You keep parking in my spot, too. I know you do.”
Annnnnnd there’s not gonna be any winning, is there?
“No, sweetheart,” he shakes his head. “I promise yours is the one down from that. There’re numbers painted in the corners. They’ve faded, but you can count from the others.”
“Then why is my spot always taken?”
“It’s the asshole with the Lexus who keeps parkin’ in your spot. Thinks he should get better parkin’ because he pays for one of the bigger apartments a few floors up, elderly and disabled neighbors on the first floor be damned.”
She scoffs “What a fuckwad.”
“Exactly,” he agrees. “So can ya get off my dick? Please? I work long hours anyway. I’m only here to eat, piss, and sleep most days.”
A long pause lingers between them, and he watches the rise and fall of her chest as she releases a deep breath.
Finally, she nods. “Fine.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Then she steps out into the hall, entering his space now, an accusatory finger jabbing at him
“But never call me sweetheart again,” she warns. Then she lowers her voice. “Oh, and don’t think I can’t smell what you and your brother have been smoking.”
“You got a problem with pot?” he challenges. “Because the buildin’ manager doesn’t give a fuck.”
“No,” she rolls her eyes. “But at least be courteous and offer some every once in a while.”
That has him chuckling all over again. This woman…
“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he says, shaking his head.
Her green eyes glitter then, venom black replaced with sparkly gold flecks. Those lips of hers turn up into a smirk.
“It has been mentioned.”
The apartment door has clicked shut behind her, and she’s leaned back against it now, one sock covered ankle crossed over the other.
He should go. He’s said his piece, and this needs to be the end of the conversation before he can get a second look at her.
Before he turns to leave, though, he asks, “So, if I can’t call you sweetheart, what should I call you?”
Again, she stares daggers at him, boring into him as if trying to decide if she should divulge such a thing as her name.
Finally, she relents.
“Tess,” she tells him. “My name is Tess.”
He nods. Tess.
“Joel,” he offers.
“I didn’t ask.”
“No,” he says, “but I ain’t in the business of knowin’ someone’s name and them not knowin’ mine.”
“Well, great.” She throws her hands up. “Oh, and tell your brother to quiet down.”
“You say that as if I haven’t been beggin’ him for weeks. Also, I’m a bit offended you’d think that mess has anything to do with me.”
Tess just shrugs. “I can only make assumptions based on what I see, and I didn’t even know there were two of you.”
“Guess that’s true, but…” he closes the distance between them, leaning down to say the next words directly into her ear, “If it was me, you would know. Trust me.”
He doesn’t miss the slight hitch in her breath or the way her grip tightens on the sleeves of her flannel. When he steps back, her pupils are blown black.
“Yeah, well,” she stammers, “just do something about it. Also, what’s with your accent?”
He stares at her dumbly. What? “My accent?”
“Yeah. Where are you from?” she’s successfully diverted the conversation. “You can’t be from here in Boston.”
For a moment, he considers telling her to fuck off. Especially if she’s about to judge him. But is she judging him?
He decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. “I’m from Texas, just outside Austin. That an issue?”
She shakes her head. “No, I was just curious. It’s not often I get accosted by a cowboy wannabe outside my apartment.”
“I’ll have you know, I spent many of my formative years on a ranch in El Paso bustin’ my ass,” he tells her. “Ain’t no wannabe about it.”
“Oh,” she scoffs. “I stand corrected. My mistake.”
“I just don’t appreciate people makin’ fun of me.”
“Never,” she promises. Then she lifts her hand to her head in a mocking salute. “You have a good evening, Texas. I’ll change my music to something more at home for you.”
That has his jaw clenching all over again. “I asked you to turn it down.”
“Oh, I will,” she says, then turns back to her door. “Night, Texas.”
“I mean it!” he calls after her as she slips back into her apartment, a smirk playing on her lips again.
But his plea falls on deaf ears. All he can do is stare at her door until he can bring himself to drag himself back to his own apartment.
Trudging through the door, he makes a beeline for the beer bottle sitting on the coffee table, heart sinking as he remembers it’s empty. Without the energy to go into the kitchen for a new one, he stumbles over to the futon, where he flops down again.
As he closes his eyes, the booming bass and loud electric guitars from next door stop.
Soon, he’s being serenaded by Brooks & Dunn
When the sun goes down on my side my of town
That lonesome feeling comes to my door
And the whole world turns blue
All he can do is snatch the pillow from under his own head and cover his face with it.
Rating: Mature
Chapter: 11/?
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Slow Burn, Single Parents, POV Alternating, Dream is a sculptor, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Descriptions of Violence, Hob Has Anger Management Issues, Smoking, Drinking
With the paparazzi still swarming their house, Hob couldn’t even go out. So Rachel and Johanna took it upon themselves to run Hob’s 'outside' errands for him, from buying the groceries to dropping off Hob’s paperwork to driving Robyn around for his last week of school.
The house was clean, at least. The cleanest it’s been in years. There was no rotting food in the fridge, no unwashed dishes in the sink, no scattered items around the house, no dirty laundry, no sweaty bed sheets, no dusty furniture, none. Keeping himself busy was the easiest way to ignore the ghost, he found.
