Ilya was playing right wing to Shane’s center on the first line. He had been looking forward to this since it was announced. For the first time in seven years of playing professional hockey and being invited to All-Stars Weekend, he was finally on the same team as Shane. On the same line. Even if he had to move to right wing, they were still playing together.
Before they had gone out onto the ice, Shane had given a speech about having fun and winning. It was a pretty trite speech, if Ilya was honest, but it was the excitement that drew him in. The shine of exhilaration in Shane’s eyes as he talked about getting on the ice. The way he boosted everyone’s confidence by talking stats and opportunity, but what Ilya saw was the elation each player had on their face because they got to play on the same team as Shane Hollander. Like they had to impress him and do their best because they had been chosen to play with him. This might be the highlight of some of these player’s careers. He hyped up the guys in a vastly different way than Ilya usually did – he liked lots of swear words and chirping – but it was effective because everyone headed out of the locker room with grins on their faces.
There was something nice about playing with Shane Hollander. A calmness and an assurance that when he looked over, Shane would be there waiting to get the puck. Over the years, Ilya had envisioned playing with Shane many times. Sometimes he used it as a daydream for when he needed to go to sleep and couldn’t. Sometimes he imagined it while he watched Shane play and how his linemates fumbled to keep up with him. Sometimes he even thought about it when he was jerking off. Because there was something so satisfying about thinking about them tape to tape passing while he was bringing himself pleasure.
He’d wanted this so bad for so long. Now that the opportunity was here, he should be relishing it, savoring it, lavishing in it. Who knew the next time it would happen. If it ever happened again.
Shane won the initial face-off, and he was off with the puck. Ilya stayed near him, keeping up with him in a way he’d only gotten to picture in his head.
No one had ever kept up with him like this, but it was like Shane knew what Ilya was going to do before Ilya knew.
He figured it would be a little weird. He’d be sluggish from his awful night, but the moment Shane looked to his right, found Ilya there, and smiled at him, it was like Ilya found a hidden trove of energy. He was zipping down the ice, all exhaustion exercised from his body. Shane’s smile was laced in exhilaration. Any hesitation or fear was replaced by the euphoria of it just being them and the ice, their sticks, and the puck as they kept up with each other, racing toward the net.
Ilya always knew that Shane could keep up with him. They were always fighting for the puck when they were against one another, but now that they were on the same side, they were playing a completely separate game where it was just the two of them against the world.
Shane was right where Ilya needed him. He didn’t have to slow down or change up his method. Shane was where he was supposed to be. And Ilya was right beside him.
They had been at the top together for such a long time, battling it out for awards, for first draft, for first place, but maybe they were always supposed to be there together. Making their way up to the very peak of the tallest point of the mountain and building something everlasting. Something that was entirely their own – a dynasty that would be talked about for decades.
Shane slid the puck toward Ilya for the first shot of the game. The shot he took was at an odd angle and was easily blocked by the goalie, the Finnish one Shane had been talking to at breakfast and who Ilya had talked to once about Canada’s drinking water of all things.
When they skated down to the other end of the ice to switch lines, Shane said, “Nice try.” There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm or disdain. There wasn’t the hatred Ilya thought he fully deserved.
He even flashed Ilya a gentle smile. Just a hint of his lips upturned into something private and only for Ilya.
Shane grabbed his water bottle before they were due back on the ice and sat down at the far end of the bench, chugging it.
Ilya followed him, forgetting about his own water bottle despite the sweat pouring from him. There were a few guys around them, but they were focused on the game. The cheering from the stands echoed all around them. He thought he heard a few people throw out his name, but he only had eyes for Shane.
“I’m sorry,” Ilya muttered, hoping Shane could hear him over the loud cheering.
Shane’s eyes found his before turning back to the ice. “It was just a missed shot. No big deal.”
Ilya sat down heavily beside him and lowered his voice even more. Mike Brophy was sitting almost right behind him, although he was watching the game intently and Eddie Muran sat a little ways down the bench alternating between chugging a Gatorade and a water.
“I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve—”
“Ilya, I get it. You don’t—”
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Ilya admitted. “About what—”
“Hey man, it’s just a missed goal,” Brophy said putting his hands on both of their shoulders. He was giving them an encouraging smile. Shane ducked his head on the pretense of taking another sip of water, but Ilya noticed the nervous darting of his eyes. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Rozanov. There will be another chance.”
Ilya shook Brophy off and hoped that the heat blossoming on his cheeks was assumed to be from the exertion of the game.
“Did you have any water?” Shane asked once Brophy had knocked their helmets together and hurried over the boards as the third line went out.
“No.”
Shane pressed his water bottle into Ilya’s thigh and offered up an encouraging smile. He had been so caring during Ilya’s rut and not just in a sexual way. He’d tidied, and cleaned up the mess Ilya left behind, especially with the picture Ilya had knocked from the wall. He’d cuddled with Ilya and brought him electrolytes to stay hydrated. It was the most caring anyone had been to him in a very long time. And Ilya wanted it to last forever. Now he was offering him water and a gentle smile as if to say, ‘it’s okay, I got you.’
Why was Ilya willing to give Shane up?
Why wasn’t he trying harder to keep this fragile beautiful thing alive between them?
There were a million reasons to push Shane away, to let him go, but there was just one reason to say ‘yes’ and fight for what he wanted. To choose who he wanted.
Ilya smiled back and took the offered water bottle. When Shane passed it over, Ilya made sure to touch his gloved fingers over Shane’s. He looked away, his cheeks brighter than ripe cherries and Ilya knew it wasn’t from the game.
All those years ago when they were in the hotel gym after the draft and Ilya had handed his own water bottle to Shane, he had almost the same exact look on his face.
How could Ilya have ever thought he was done with Shane Hollander? How could he have thought that he was going to move on? Shane was his future. He was his past. And he was his present.
Shane really had ruined Ilya, and he’d ruined him years and years ago. Ilya was just too slow to realize it. Until now.
“First line, get ready,” Coach called out.
“You good?” Shane asked popping in his mouthguard. It shouldn’t have been as sexy as Ilya found it, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Shane’s teeth found the grooves in the protective plastic. Ilya carefully set the water bottle down and followed him. He was always going to follow him, wasn’t he?
“Yes,” Ilya said, and he meant it in more ways than one.
“This isn’t the kind of story I usually read.”
Bucky Barnes, beta, is a high-strung workaholic in the publishing industry. When he’s suddenly forced out onto vacation by his boss, much to his chagrin, he gets in the car and heads north out of Brooklyn for a month-long stay at a vacation rental on Maine’s mid-coast. His host—a mysterious omega named Steve Rogers—is an idle and lonely romance author with a shelf full of unsubmitted manuscripts and a pocket full of secrets he’s finally ready to share.
“I know,” Steve calls back. All around them, the salty sea air rushes off the ocean, tangling itself with gold and crimson leaves in the surrounding tree line. “That’s why I wrote it.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: One Direction (Band)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne/Oli Wright
Characters: Original Male Character(s)
Additional Tags: Photographer AU, Photographer Harry, Famous Louis, Hurt/Comfort, Past minor character death, Anxiety Attacks, Panic Attacks, PTSD, oli and liam is a totally random pairing and weird, but it works for this fic i swear, Kissing, Smut, Flashbacks, Coming Out, Gay Louis, Bi Harry, Past Drug Use, Just a Mention, weed smoking in the present, Alcohol
Summary:
“Well, what the fuck are we going to do?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Lou. We can’t contact him. He’s gone totally off the grid.”
“We’ll figure it out, Louis, don’t you worry."
“I just … I was counting on him. I really did like his style, and it took us months to book him for the first tour. How are we supposed to find someone just as good in the next few days, let alone see trial shots?”
“Whoever we find, Lou, they’ll do. We won’t leave you hanging."
____
“Li, I just got a message from Louis Tomlinson.”
“Wait … like the singer, Louis Tomlinson?”
“Yeah. He, umm, he wants me.”
“Well done, H, you’ve got a pop star with the hots for you.”
“No, you don’t understand. He … wants me to take pictures. He needs a tour photographer and he …”
“Oh, Harry … Do you think he knows who you are? What did you say?”
“I … don’t think so? It just happened, and I … What do I do?”
********
Louis Tomlinson needs a tour photographer, and he thinks he's found the one in the mysterious H on Instagram.
Harry Styles swore he'd never do tour photography again - that is, until he did.
Steve and Bucky escape Romania only for German Special Forces to catch up with them in neighboring Serbia. They manage to make another frantic escape, but this time, Bucky is shot in the back. He’s left injured and in constant pain, forcing Steve to bring him to a safehouse in the States, in the hopes that Doctor Cho will be able to help Bucky. But of course, not long after their arrival, they are discovered and Bucky is arrested for the crimes he was forced to commit while under HYDRA’s control.
Even with the serum and aid from Doctor Cho, Bucky does not heal fully and is left with limited mobility and in chronic pain. Steve trades his freedom and formally resigns as Captain America to be allowed into Bucky’s prison cell to care for him while Bucky is on trial for murder and treason. He assures Bucky that there is no possible way the jury could find Bucky guilty. Bucky was a prisoner of war and the jury will understand that. At least, that’s what Steve tells himself.
Steve jumps out of the Valkyrie, they win the war, and when he comes back home he tries to live his life as well as he can despite the gaping hole the loss of Bucky carved inside his chest. Sixty years later his life looks to span out much longer than he ever could have expected, and he's still feeling utterly lost all too often.
In 2005 he's asked to help with thwarting the Red Room agents coming for the recently defected Natasha, and his life is completely overturned when he locks eyes with the Winter Soldier and realizes the biggest tragedy of his life had turned out different from what he'd thought.
really struggling now because i am so impatient and want to start posting this story but the smarter less brave part of me is not letting me do it before i finish. it's so hard to be responsible about this subject that doesn't matter at all.
Coinbase launches Stand with Crypto Alliance, reports 52k 'advocate' signups on first day
Coinbase launches Stand with Crypto Alliance, reports 52k 'advocate' signups on first day
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