"Do you think... we'd be in love at sixteen? Or- fifteen?"
Shane makes a soft noise. He is so tired. His eyes are drooping, body melting into the sheets like the bed will swallow him whole. He snuggles closer, lifting an arm to palm at Ilya's bicep, fingers spreading over solid muscle. It's so warm. He's so warm. Shane wants to feel this warm forever. "Mm? What?"
"If we'd met before? You think it would have been the same?"
"Before Saskatchawan?"
"If we met as younger teenagers. Do you think you would have still loved me then?"
"Duh." Shane huffs a laugh, his hand now wrapping around Ilya's back and climbing up and threading into the curls at the nape of his neck. He hums, content. "Obviously."
Ilya’s mouth tightens slightly. “Obviously,” he repeats.
"I'd always love you." He thinks of younger Shane Hollander, and remembers wide eyes, awe as he watched younger Ilya Rozanov on the ice, the excitement that bubbled in his chest. "I watched hockey tapes of you. Before we met."
"You did?"
He yawns. "I think I had a crush on you. Which is- wow. Embarrassing."
"Lucky you. Dating your childhood crush." Ilya's tone is smug, but his smile is soft, his thumb stroking Shane's chin like he can't really believe it himself.
And Shane's voice is all syrup and honey and golden and loving when he says, before drifting to sleep, "fuck you, Ilya."
instantly had the idea of shane posing with some lilies (from ilya of course), thought it was quintessentially lily fuckery, bc you can't really confirm shit but the evidence sure is stacking up...
thanks to @wordy-and-nerdyy for reccing me this I love it so much 😭
Irina is a smart and curious child with big dreams. She gets into figure skating. She’s good, she wants to be the best. In her late teens she gets a boyfriend. He’s good at first, sweet, but soon starts getting jealous and controlling. Every time she’s not with him, she has to tell him what she’s doing and with whom. She stops going out, she gets more and more isolated. She’s with him all the time. It’s not enough. When she arrives 5 minutes later than the agreed upon time, he accuses her of cheating and hits her.
She’s 19 now, she hasn’t been with him for almost a year. She’s doing better. Her mother asks her if she doesn’t want to start going out again. She means well. She’s so beautiful. She meets an older man. He isn’t as sweet as her first boyfriend was, but look where that got her. He treats her well and clearly cares about her. He works for the police and is well connected. He’ll protect her.
She’s 20 now and pregnant. She wanted to try figure skating again. Or maybe go to college. Grigori keeps calling her a silly girl. He tells her she only has to make him look good. She’s so pretty. She just needs to not embarrass him. Can’t she see how the other wives behave? How is it so difficult to organize a party? Doesn’t she have everything she needs?
Alexei is born and she’s so tired. She doesn’t know what she’s doing wrong. She wants her mother but Grigori barely lets her see her. Alexei is a difficult baby, she thinks. He cries all the time. She can’t get him to eat. She can’t get him to sleep. She has barely slept herself. ‘How is this so difficult for you?’, she hears, ‘every woman does it.’ She dreams of disappearing.
Alexei finally sleeps for a few hours and meal time is easier now that he eats solid foods. She likes spending time with him. But he needs her too much sometimes. There’s something in him that reminds her of Grigori. She doesn’t dwell on that; she can’t resent her own child. She dreams of having her own house, of skating, of going to school again.
Grigori thinks she spends too much time with Alexei. He’s a big boy now, he shouldn’t need his mother so much. He starts getting jealous of his own son. She leaves Alexei crying sometimes; it’s better that way. She needs to pay attention to Grigori.
Alexei has a fever and Grigori tells her to get dressed; they have a party to attend. She tells him no; she will stay and take care of her child. He grabs her, locks her in her room, and reminds her of her place in the house. She can hear Alexei crying, a weak cry. She starts screaming and banging on the door, she has to get out. Something breaks and she can’t hear Alexei anymore. Her throat is raw from screaming when the door is open. ‘You will remember what I can do.’ She doesn’t say no again. She starts thinking of her plan to leave, she will try to take Alexei. She will be good for now.
She’s pregnant again. She can’t sleep; she can’t eat. Alexei is acting strange, has more tantrums. He’s cruel sometimes, he keeps reminding her of Grigori. She can’t have another son. She will not survive all the crying and sleepless nights. She keeps making monsters. She mustn’t think that. Alexei keeps asking for her attention. Grigori reminds her she needs to spend time with him; she is not to lock herself with her child again. She needs to leave. Her life is over. She will never escape now.
The moments she has alone, she keeps talking to her son. Ilya, she will name him. He’s her only comfort now. She begs him to please help her. He can’t be difficult. She will do her best to protect him, but he has to be good. She tells him her fears, she confides in him. She’s terrified. ‘Please don’t be like your brother, please.’ She loves Alexei, she does. ‘I won’t survive if you are like him.’ She will need to find a way to leave.
Ilya is born. He looks like her. He’s a sweet baby, nothing like Alexei. He eats when she asks. He sleeps through the night. He never cries. She worries about that sometimes but when she looks at him, he looks well. Big eyes focused on her. He’s starting to smile now, every time he looks at her, he smiles. She can’t help but smile back. She continues to talk to him, tells him all her worries, asks him to help her. He’s all she’s got.
Alexei is getting more difficult now. He never stands still, always running, always breaking things. Grigori doesn’t like that, tells her she doesn’t know how to raise him. Alexei gets in trouble in preschool, he’s hitting other kids. The teachers say he’s a cruel boy. Grigori makes him change schools. She wonders if they were right, if whatever is wrong with Grigori, whatever is wrong with her that makes her hate her own child sometimes, has been passed to him. But then she sees the way he is with Ilya, so gentle, so careful, always making him laugh. Ilya can’t take his eyes off him, always trying to copy him. Ilya’s first word is Alexei’s name. Ilya is like that, bringing the best in everyone.
Ilya is 3 now. He loves playing with mama. They are picking flowers outside when he sees Alexei. He rushes to him and offers him the prettiest one, tall and golden yellow with pink on the outside. Alexei doesn’t even look at it and shoves him to the side. His father is right behind, an angry look on his face. He pats his head and goes inside. There’s loud noises. He looks at the ground and the flower is destroyed. His mama is hugging him and that’s when he notices he’s crying. ‘Forgive him’ he hears her say, ‘he doesn’t know how to do better. Maybe we can make him a drawing to cheer him up.’ At night he goes to Alexei’s room to give him the drawing but he doesn’t go in. He notices some bruises on his wrist, like he sees in mama sometimes. He wonders if she noticed.
Mama is lying in bed. She had been there with her eyes open for a few hours, the way she is sometimes, when he went to her. She’s petting his hair now, it’s nice. ‘Have I ever told you about the boy I dated before I met your father?’ He hears her talk about a man who’d scream at her and hit her. She tells him about leaving him. She seems so small, her eyes are on the ceiling, her voice goes on. He closes his eyes and hugs her. ‘What is wrong with me to keep choosing this? How can they sense it in me?’ She is the strongest person he knows. He can hear Alexei turning up the volume of the TV in the living room.
Ilya started hockey lessons. He loves how fast he can go, it’s like he’s flying. His father goes to see him sometimes, it’s the only time he’s seen him smile at him. He prefers when he goes with mama, she always tells him he’s the best. The coach is talking to his father now. He has his ear to the door but he can’t make out any of the words. When his father opens the door he doesn’t say a word. Later, he takes him out to eat ice-cream and tells him he’ll be the best no matter what it takes. It doesn’t feel good like when mama tells him, it feels like an order.
Yesterday kids at school made fun of him for playing with flowers. They say he’s like a girl with pretty curly hair. But they don’t say it kindly like his mama when she tells him he’s beautiful. They say it with fists and kicks that left a bruise on his tummy. So he decided, today he will not be going to school. Mama finds him in bed, he tells her he’s scared. ‘Yes, it’s scary,’ he hears, ‘but you’re brave.’
He’s alone at school today but he prefers it that way, no one bothers him. He sees a girl coming his way and he wants her to leave. He will not be rude though, so he just makes a silly face at her. She beams, takes his hand and says ‘you’re such a stupid boy, I’m Sveta’ They are running now and he never wants to stop. He thinks he loves her.
Alexei has been watching TV for over an hour now. He promised Ilya he would play with him, so Ilya decided to turn it off to remind him. He’s chasing him through the house now, but he’s not mad, he can hear him laughing. He turns back to look at him smile, when his father opens the door. It hits him and he falls to the floor. He’s never seen his father so angry. Two punches followed by a whimper and his brother is on the floor. ‘You should know better, you can’t let him do whatever he wants.’ ‘Yes papa, thank you papa.’ His father leaves without looking at him. Ilya reaches for his brother, he wants to comfort him, but gets shoved away. There’s blood on his shirt now and an ache on his ribs. Good, it’s him who deserved to get hurt.
He’s going home from school when some older boys show up. He knows they are trouble. They are going after him, and he’s running as fast as he can when Alexei shows up. He can rest now, Alexei will always protect him.
He’s trying to skate but his legs are too heavy. He’s too hot and too cold at the same time. His head hurts. Keeping upright is hard but he knows if he sits down, he will not be able to stand up again. He throws up and his coach is calling him. He will be calling his parents. ‘Please don’t, please don’t’, he dreads seeing his father’s face if he has to leave early. It’s his mama who picks him up. The way home is hard, he’s too tired. She helps him get into bed. He’s burning up. ‘He’s lazy and a liar, you can’t believe everything that boy says, you’re turning him too soft,’ he can hear his father’s voice on the phone. His mama comes back. She gently rubs his back, his face, his wrists. ‘No Ilyusha, he loves you.’ He falls asleep.
His father is screaming at mama. He can’t make out all the words but it’s enough; ‘sissy, soft, you’re ruining him.’ He grabs her and pins her down, red, angry face so close to hers. He’s at his father’s back, tiny fingers trying to hold his hands; he’s in the air now, being taken to the bathroom. He locks Ilya in there. He can hear everything in the other room. ‘I’ve calm down, papa. Thank you, papa.’ He opens the door now, he can leave. He’s on his mama’s bed, can feel her making soft circles on his wrist. Later at night, when he can hear his father snoring, he goes into their room. He crawls to his mother’s side and notices she’s looking at him, tears in her eyes that won’t fall. He lies on the floor and holds her hand, watches her as she falls asleep. It becomes a habit; he always has to check on her.
Alexei broke a window playing football. He’s not breathing right, words scrambled on their way out of his mouth. ‘You have to tell him it was you. He won’t hurt you.’ Ilya can still see his father’s hand on his arm.
Ilya got punched today, some boys at school who didn’t like him. Sveta is helping him clean his wounds like she has done so many times before. Alexei sees him and Ilya feels a little safer. ‘When will you learn to toughen up? Such a fag.’ Sveta kicks his shin.
Word gets around that Ilya is the best at hockey. He’s bigger now, stronger. Boys don’t mess with him anymore. He’s learned that he can be loud and mean, and everyone wants to be around him. He’s never felt more alone.
His father is going to hit his mama, he’s sure. He raises his hand and Ilya holds it. ‘Stop.’ His father is looking at him, twists his arm. It hurts but he doesn’t show it. It gets him to stop. ‘My sweet guardian angel, you will always protect me,’ his mama tells him. ‘Promise me you’ll always be my sweet, soft boy. He can’t take that from you.’ He turns his head away from her, tears running down his face.
He’s beating records now. He can hear his coaches saying he’s the best they’ve ever seen. He remembers skating for the first time with his mama. He will get her out of here, he will be the best and make sure they will escape.
His mama spends days on her bed, not moving, barely eating. He talks to her one day, asks her if she’s ever thought of leaving. ‘I can’t leave you Ilyusha, you’re my reason to stay.’ ‘Take me with you,’ he doesn’t say.
His mama is having a good day today. They spent the whole morning together like when he was little. They have to go to school in the evening, Alexei is receiving an award. It’s almost time, he’s changed his clothes. His mama is napping but he’ll have to wake her. She won’t move, she won’t breathe. She’s holding her necklace, he’s holding her. There’s a ringing in his ears, he can hear a high, ragged sound but he can’t tell where it’s coming from. His father is in the room now, telling him to move. His feet won’t cooperate. He gets pushed away. ‘This was an accident,’ his tone brooks no argument. In his own room, he realizes his throat is raw. He looks at his hand and sees the cross staring at him. ‘You’re free now. You should have taken me with you’, he doesn’t say.
Alexei won’t look at Ilya anymore. Ilya keeps practicing and he’s getting better and better, no one can compare to him. Alexei won’t look at him. His father brings him to parties, introduces him to all the right people. He will be a star. ‘I have to keep him in line, he gets lazy otherwise.’ Alexei is in a bathroom somewhere hooking up with a girl and doing coke. He still won’t look at him. Ilya gets more and more popular. Alexei will join the police, like father did before. His father won’t look at Alexei.
He meets Sasha. He likes him. He’s fun and Ilya can be fun with him. People enjoy when he’s fun. Sasha can be soft too, in his own way. Ilya appreciates that, he hasn’t been soft in a long time.
Ilya starts hooking up with girls sometimes and he’s having fun. They like that he doesn’t care and when he’s a little mean. He prefers Sveta though, they can cuddle afterwards.
He sleeps with Sasha and that’s a different rush. He feels unstoppable. He’s the best, even Sveta thinks so, and she knows more than anyone else.
He knows he’s good but now he’ll have an opportunity to show it too. Shane Hollander thinks he can’t see right through him, but he won’t act so nice once Ilya beats him. He knows what he’s like, perfect, golden boy, from a perfect, golden family. He’s not used to competition. But why does he seem genuine then?
Hollander is good. Not as good as him, but good. Playing is fun again. And he’s learning that teasing him is even more fun. He keeps thinking about him, but that’s only because he’s not used to having someone on his level.
He gets drafted first. He is the best like he promised his mama. He escaped, but he isn’t free.
Hollander is a surprise. He’s never had this much fun with anyone else. He’s a risk and that’s part of it. He keeps feeling wrong-footed, he doesn’t follow the same script as everyone else. He hides so much and yet he’s so genuine. He can’t stop poking him, and poking him, and poking him. And Hollander lets him. Seems to like it. It’s exhilarating.
He needs to be pushed, to be teased, to be touched. But he also craves gentleness and softness. Ilya can give him that without it being more.
He sees his face on a stupid ad. He wants to text him. He had a good practice today. He wants to text him. He’s making friends, and going out. He wants to text him. He texts Sveta instead.
Hollander wants him, that’s clear. And that’s good, he’s used to being wanted, he likes being needed. He can give him what he wants. He can make it fun, so Hollander will keep coming back.
Ilya is back in Russia. His father is getting sicker, Alexei is unbearable, only talks to him to ask for more. Ilya almost hit him today. He really is his father’s son.
Ilya needs Hollander, wants to text him. But he’s reminded of the poison that is his family, he’s reminded of the risks. He won’t risk Hollander.
He wins the Stanley Cup. He escaped, but he still isn’t free. ‘For you Mama, it was always for you.’
Hollander still wants him and it gets easier to breathe. He likes how he reacts to his teasing and it’s good sex, that’s the only reason. No point in stopping, it’s just having fun and they both clearly enjoy it. He won’t ruin him though, he won’t get close, there’s no reason to. Ilya dreams of an escape, but he will just keep hanging around for as long as he wants him to.
It keeps being fun. He’s never felt more alive. Playing is better than ever. He goes out, his teammates like him. He’s popular, everyone wants him. He’s not hooking up with random people as much but that’s because he’s feeling better than ever, he doesn’t need it as much anymore, and that’s the only reason.
He wonders what Hollander is doing, what he's eating, what he's reading. He collects little pieces of information, how he looks when he focuses, how he talks to reporters and how he chirps on the ice. He wants to know.
He’s counting down the days to meeting Hollander. He’s texting him. He thinks it would be good to hang out with him more, outside of sex. He wants him to stay the night. He wants him to drink the ginger ale he bought for him. He wants to cook him a meal and he wants him to eat it. He wants to kiss him. He wants to hold him. He wants and wants and wants.
He learned that he can’t want things a long time ago, but he’s stupid, it takes too many times for it to truly sink in. Every time he sees Shane with her, he’s reminded of the same lesson. He wasn’t made to have, only to give.
He knows Shane wants him, he’ll just have to accept that it’s only for this. He can be fun, he can give him that.
Seeing Shane again is better and worse than he could have anticipated. He can’t stop looking at him. Maybe he can have him again, and without her, which is better than he imagined.
Shane wants more, but he doesn’t understand. Ilya isn’t that, he isn’t big and fun and laid back, he’s broken, and small, and scared. He can’t want that, so why does it feel like maybe he can?
His father dies and he has no reason to see his brother again. It should be freeing, he’s not sure why it doesn’t feel that way.
He calls Shane, he always wants to talk to him. For once, he is the one who wants more, more, more, but he’s learning to be happy with what he gets.
He can’t breathe. He wants to go to him and hold his hand. He’s not moving. Is he breathing? He needs to get to him. His feet won’t cooperate. He gets pushed away. Everything his heart touches dies.
He’s fine and smiling and relaxed. He is okay. He will be okay. He wants to comfort him. He wants to give him everything he asks for. He can’t tell him no, but he doesn’t know how to make this possible.
Scott Hunter is kissing a man and he hopes. Maybe he will be free.
He’s scared, but he can be brave, he can be soft. He’s trying, he shares little by little and Shane catches him. He can be loud, and fun, and mean, and scared, and small, and soft. He’s always there. He looks at big sad eyes with tears that won’t fall and he remembers. He hears him laugh and sees him smile and he remembers. He wants to hide, but he’s held and he remembers. Shane looks at him and sees him and he remembers. He can be loved.
Angsty idea where the Boxing Day fight leads to a breakup over coming out and they don't talk to each other for months until Ilya sees on Instagram that Shane Hollander's documentary-famous cottage in Ontario lake country is up for sale
Ilya barely blinks before buying it on condition of anonymity because he can't bear the thought of anybody else living in the home of all of Ilya's happiest adult memories but also he doesn't want Shane to know he's that pathetic
He goes to the closing and it's only once he's signed all the paperwork and been given the keys that it really hits him and he has to reckon with the fact that Shane sold the cottage, his happiest place, and maybe neither of them is coping with the breakup after all
He refuses to change the locks because he's finally in a place to look back and realize they both fucked up, and maybe they can fix it, and if they can fix it then he always always wants Shane to be able to come home
“Lily can’t get pregnant!” Shane shouts at him, throwing his towel against his locker. The wet sound snapped everyone’s eyes at him.
Their captian never yelled. Never.
Hayden had been ribbing him all practice in his usually, puppy like ignorant way, where he couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, see how his words tore Shane apart.
Shane snapped.
“How many times have I told you that Lily and I are casual. Friends. Not everyone wants to get married and have five kids before 30,” Shane grumbled as he picked up his towel. Not everyone can, he thought selfishly.
Hayden stood completely still, like a prey animal who knew it had been spotted. “I was just — ”
“I know you were just, you always just. No matter how many times I tell you to drop it, to stop setting me up with Jackie’s friends, to stop asking when I’m having kids, you just can’t stop.” Shane closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool locker door. He forced himself to breathe in and out. Focus.
“Lily and I are not in a relationship. We’re both very focused on our careers right now, and franky I don’t want kids while I’m only 24. Neither does Lily. And even if we might one day want to have kids, we can’t…” Shane hated lying, he hated saying Lily instead of Ilya. He hated that he had to conceal his love from his best friend.
For all that they were brothers, Hayden had a tendency to irritate him with his childlike, happy- go-lucky personality. He didn’t know what it was like; He drafted 17th overall, he was white, a decent player with a decent family background, a beautiful wife who was happy to forgo her education to raise their kids.
Hayden wasn’t half asian. He wasn’t an immigrant. He was the poster card hockey player; the white man, with a white wife and their four (beautiful and amazing) kids, who advertisers would never second guess publicly endorsing.
Hayden and Jackie was everything Shane and Ilya could never be. And at times Shane hated them a little for it.
“Even if we might one day want to, it wouldn’t matter. Lily is only in America on a work visa, and as she can’t get pregnant naturally we would have to look into adoption or surrogacy, something that’s practically impossible for us right now with our jobs. And her family isn’t…too happy about me.”
“Her family’s racist?” Comeau piped up from his seat. “And why would her workplace care who she’s dating?”
“Jesus christ, man. Racism is a thing. Xenophobia is a thing. I’m half asian and she’s an immigrant. If the wrong person hears about our relationship and decides to be a little bitch about it, her employment could be cut and she’d have to go back to…a very shitty place.”
“But that’s illegal,” JJ mumbled to himself but looked down as soon as Shane set his eyes on him. JJ knew personally that just because something is illegal doesn’t mean it can’t or won’t happen.
They’d both been on the receiving end of racist remarks by coaches and players without any support from the higher ups. It was a known ‘don’t speak about it’ issue at the Montreal enterprise.
“Yeah, but it’s also reality.”
Forcing his breath to stay even, Shane threw a hoodie over his head and tried to picture Ilyas beautiful smile. He had to protect him above all. Protect them. Opening his eyes he noticed that all his friends had theirs set on him.
The whole team knew about Boston Lily. They knew he was quiet about her, that she was the only girl he’d been with for years, and that it might be serious. She had become somewhat of an urban legend amongst them. No one knew anything, and it had to stay that way.
“It’s safer for us, for our future even, if we keep it under wraps for now.” Shane turned to look at Hayden, who to his credit looked heartbroken and slightly ashamed. Shane hated that it filled him with a sense of satisfaction.
“If we one day decide to make a go for it, she’d have to apply for a permanent residency in America or Canadian citizenship, which will take years. If we want kids that’s a whole other issue. A whole other five to seven years of background checks, biological testing, etc.”
It was clear from the way Hayden sunk into himself that he had never even considered this possibility. That he and Shane lived in two very different worlds.
“I probably won’t be a father until i’m near 40, and even then, I plan on playing for as long as possible. Lily too, wants to focus on her career. Your kids would finish high school by the time any of ours are even born. That’s if we’re lucky enough to have them, which isn’t a guarantee.”
A soft ‘fucking hell man’ was heard from the back of the room, but he couldn’t pick out who it was. It didn’t matter though, as all the guys looked at him with pity. Shane fucking hated pity. As did Ilya.
“Right now we’re both happy with our arrangement because that’s all we can be.” Shane pretended no one could hear how his voice wavered. He forced himself to sound harsh as he put his foot down.
“So just, back off. Stop asking about Lily. Stop setting me up on surprise blind dates and asking when I’m having kids. It’s not gonna happen for us, I mean me, for at least another ten to fifteen years so. Just. Back off.”
With a loud slam of his locker, Shane marched out of the room, head down, hands clenched tight in his pockets.
Tomorrow would be better.
Tomorrow he would show up and be the captain the team deserved.
(He’d most likely get a talking to from Theriault for exploding like this, and he’d apologise like the good boy he is, and he’d leave all his personal problems at home, and focus only on hockey.)
But first, he needed to go home and cry in the shower.
Ten to fifteen years.
Ten to fifteen years before he could live a full life with Ilya.
my darlings. i want to read your writing. your thoughts. your feelings. your creativity. your horniness. your characterization. your style. your voice. your point of view. your quirks.
and i want your imperfection! your typos! your spelling errors! your grammar mistakes! your misused/misplaced words! your clunky phrasing! your awkward metaphors! ALL OF IT!
and i don't care how long it takes. i don't care how long i have to wait between the time you first mention the concept and the time you debut the work itself. i don't care how long i have to wait between chapters. whether it's weeks, month, years, or DECADES! i will wait. joyfully.
the value of your work is that you made it. i want to read what you wrote because i trust you and i love you and fandom is about community, not consumption.
you don't need AI to check your work. you don't need AI to correct spelling and grammar. you don't need AI to edit your work. you don't need AI to make it sound more polished. you don't need AI to make it more flowery. you don't need AI to fill in the parts that are hard for you to write. you don't need AI to write more, or write faster.
You. Are. Good. Enough.
Even if you make mistakes. Even if it takes you forever. You're good enough!
The worst thing you make will always be better than the nicest-sounding, most technically perfect thing made (even partially) by AI. only human-made things are art. AI cannot make anything new. AI can just regurgitate something that has already been made by a human.
don't fall prey to the pressure to produce a large volume of writing, that looks and sounds professional, in a short period of time. that's not the goal. the goal is to enjoy making something!
i want to read something that you had fun writing! i want to read something that you wrote for pure love of the game. something born of your passion for the source material. that's what fandom is.
if you surrender or delegate ANY part of the process to AI, that defeats the entire purpose of fanworks. don't give up the joy, the fun, the challenge, the triumph of creating something. make something out of love. share it out of love. we will read it out of love.
authors note: So, with some of you wanting me to write for HR characters, consider this my practice fic. And what better way than to write for Hollanov (nothing angsty or book/show cannon) and how the couple mother hen the male reader after a wild night out. Just something fluffy, funny and kinda crack-ish 'cause that's what started me writing.
synopsis: Shane and Iyla were fine letting their boyfriend go out to a club with a couple of friends. However, when a video shows y/n dancing in the club and having a blast (clearly intoxicated) they put on their shoes and track their wayward boyfriend.
"Do you really have to go?" Ilya whines, draping himself over your shoulders like a particularly affectionate python, all long limbs and pouty lips. "I bet we're more entertaining than your friends."
You laugh, trying to wriggle into your jacket while he actively sabotages your efforts. "It's Marco's birthday. I promised."
"Marco," Shane repeats from the kitchen, sounding deeply unimpressed. "The one who thinks 'no' means 'try harder'?"
"He's not that bad—"
"He asked you if you were 'sure' about your sexuality when you mentioned us," Shane says flatly, appearing in the doorway. His glasses are slightly askew, which means he's been running his hands through his hair anxiously. "Three times."
Ilya nuzzles into your neck. "Stay. We'll do that thing you like."
"Which thing?"
"Any thing." Ilya grins wickedly. "All the things. We have a whole roster of things."
You extricate yourself with a kiss to his forehead and one to Shane's cheek, which he turns his head at the last minute to make it a proper goodbye kiss.
"Text us when you get there," he says quietly. "And when you're leaving. And—"
Three hours later, Shane is reorganizing the spice rack alphabetically while Ilya attempts to beat his high score on Mario Kart when Shane's phone buzzes. Then again. And again. And again.
"Your phone's having a seizure." Ilya says, not looking away from the screen.
Shane picks it up, frowning at the notification flood. Group chat. Multiple people. Something about...he clicks the link. The video buffers for three seconds before showing strobe lights, a group of people on the dance floor, and you in the center of it all.
"Is that—" Ilya drops his controller.
You're dancing. No dancing is too gentle a word. You're wild. Body rolling in ways that should be illegal, shirt riding up, hair a mess, grinning like you hold the secrets to the universe. Someone behind you is extremely close, eyes locked on you, more specifically, the bottom half of your body.
The caption reads: Y/N came OUT tonight 🔥🔥🔥
"That's...that's our Y/N?" Ilya sounds torn between aroused and deeply concerned. "The same Y/N who falls asleep during The Bachelor? The same Y/N who needed three business days to work up the courage to ask the waiter for extra napkins? The same Y/N who—"
Ilya stops before pointing at the screen. "Is that a twerk?"
It is, in fact, a twerk.
Shane is already dialing, but your phone goes straight to voicemail. He redials but the same thing occurs.
"No signal, probably. Clubs always have bad signal."
"Then I'm calling Marco."
"Marco hates us."
"I know." Shane's smile is terrifying. "That's why I'm calling."
Twenty minutes later, they're in Shane's SUV because Ilya's car was deemed too chaotic for an emergency. "Left here," Ilya reads from his phone. "The building is called Pulse."
"Of course it's called Pulse," Shane mutters, turning the corner with unnecessary aggression. "Of course."
Pulse is exactly the kind of place Shane would avoid on principle. Loud, crowded, sticky floors, and absolutely no logical flow to the layout. Ilya, however, navigates it like he was born there, parting crowds with sheer confidence and the occasional elbow.
They find your group near the bar. You are, mercifully, no longer twerking, but you are standing on a booth, attempting to lead a chant that nobody knows the words to.
"Y/N!" Ilya shouts.
You turn. Your face lights up like Christmas morning. "SHANEY! ILYA! MY HUSBANDS!"
"We're not married." Shane corrects automatically, but he's already reaching to help you down.
"Yet," you add, swaying dangerously. You grab Ilya's face with both hands. "You're so pretty. Did you know you're pretty? Shane, tell him he's pretty."
"You're pretty," Shane deadpans, already calculating the fastest route to the exit. "Can you walk?"
"Can I walk?" You scoff, offended by the implication. "I can dance. Did you see me dance? I was like—" You attempt to demonstrate, nearly taking out the person beside you. "—like that. I have moves. Sexy moves. Watch—"
"Absolutely not." Shane has your jacket. He's also acquired your shoes from somewhere, God knows how, and is herding you toward the door.
The car ride home is an adventure in itself. You spend the first ten minutes with your head in Ilya's lap, insisting he stroke your hair 'like a war hero in a movie.'
"You're not a war hero." Shane says from the driver's seat.
"I fought for my country."
"You worked retail for two weeks in college."
"It was combat, Shane."
Ilya is trying not to laugh, his hand moving automatically through your hair. "Why didn't you tell us you could dance like that?"
"I was saving it," you mumble, eyes closed. "For my rebranding."
"Your what?"
"My rebranding. I'm not 'cute domestic Y/N' anymore. I'm Party Y/N. I'm Chaos Y/N. I'm—" You sit up suddenly, nearly giving yourself whiplash. "I'm gonna get a tattoo."
"No." Both Shane and Ilya say in unison.
"A face tattoo."
"No."
"Of both your faces."
Shane actually swerves. "Excuse me?"
"On my butt," you clarify, like this makes it better. "Left cheek: Shane. Right cheek: Ilya. So when I twerk—"
"We're stopping this conversation." Shane interrupts, his ears burning red.
"—it's like you're kissing—"
"Y/N."
"—through the butt—"
Ilya has his hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "Okay, lyubimyy. Okay. Let's...let's table the butt tattoo discussion for when you can walk normal."
You lick his palm.
"Did you just—" Ilya yanks his hand back, wiping it on his jeans. "He licked me."
"You're lucky he didn't bite," Shane mutters, but there's a smile twitching at his mouth now. "Remember when he tried to bite the paramedic?"
"That was one time and he was very handsome—"
"You thought the paramedic was handsome?" Shane's voice goes dangerously soft.
You blink, realizing your error. "No. You are handsome. Both of you. So handsome. Like...like if a sunset and a really good sandwich had a baby."
"A sandwich?"
"A really good one. With...with avocado."
Shane pulls into the driveway. He kills the engine and turns around, really looking at you for the first time since they dragged you out of the club. Your hair's a mess. Your shirt's inside out. There's glitter on your cheekbone that definitely wasn't there when you left.
"You're an idiot."
"Yeah." you agree, swaying even though you're sitting still.
"You scared us."
"Sorry," you mumble, genuinely. You reach for his hand, miss, get his knee instead. "I just...I wanted to be fun. Like you guys. You're so... you're so much. And I'm just...me."
"You're our favorite person," Shane adds, unbuckling his seatbelt to lean into the back. "We don't need you to be 'Party Y/N.' We like grandpa Y/N better."
"Really?"
"Really."
You consider this. "Can I still get the butt tattoo?"
"No."
Getting you inside is a challenge. You insist on being carried so Ilya hoists you over his shoulder in a fireman's carry while Shane handles the keys, the shoes, and the growing headache behind his eyes.
"Put me down, you big Russian oaf." you complain, even as you pat his butt affectionately.
"Make up your mind."
"I love your butt. It's like two firm hams."
In the bedroom, they manage to get you into sweatpants and one of Shane's oversized sweaters—"I want Ilya's" you whine, so they switch you to Ilya's, which smells like him and is approximately three sizes too big.
"Water." Shane commands, pressing a glass into your hands.
You drink. You also demand Shane tell you a bedtime story, which turns into you telling them a story about "the time I fought a goose," which is apparently a real event from your childhood that somehow involved a kayak and a territorial waterfowl.
"...and that's why I'm banned from Lake Michigan." you finish, already half asleep.
Shane and Ilya exchange looks over your head.
"Should we check on him every hour?" Ilya whispers. "Make sure he doesn't choke?"
"Already set an alarm."
They settle in on either side of you. Ilya curled against your back while Shane is pressed to your chest. You mumble something unintelligible, smushing your face into Shane's collarbone. "What?"
"Love you," you slur. "Both. So much. Even though you're...you're buzzkills."
"Go to sleep, Party Y/N." Ilya murmurs, his arm heavy across your waist.
You giggle, the sound fading into soft breathing, and finally go limp between them. Ilya waits a full five minutes before whispering: "We should video him more often."
