he always thought sex was something sacred, something you should wait for until you found your soulmate. for him, lovemaking represented the deepest link you could have with someone.
until you stormed into his life.
he told himself that you wouldn't be a big deal, just a little innocent crush that would go away after a few weeks. i'm sorry to spoil but it wasn't. the little heart flutter he felt everytime you were near slowly became a deep ache. one nestled deep inside his core. one who never faded away, only grew stronger and hungrier as time went by.
one glance at you and he could already hear himself scream internally. he wanted to get closer, wanted to touch, to kiss, to claim. everything about you drove him crazy: your looks, your smell, the sound of your voice, the fantom touch of your skin whenever you walked by. oh that little crush turned to obsession. pure little angel turned into a lustful man.
so when he finally got a taste of you? oh god he turned feral. his cock is pounding your tight little hole, going in and out of you with wet squelches. his lips are all over you, on your neck to suck at your sweet spot, on your chest to lick your hard nipples, on your legs to leave bitemarks and on your lips to claim your mouth.
your legs shake desperately, hooked on his shoulders. you are bent in half and so close to him. your head spin but you don't know if it's from the heat of the room or the fact that his dick is drilling your spot perfectly. you bite your bottom lip to muffle the slutty moans escaping your mouth, an action that didn't please him.
"don't fucking hold back."
he grunts, looking at you with feral eyes. his hand sneaks to your face, shoving his thick fingers inside your mouth to force it open. spit dribble down your chin, droplets sliding down your neck. before being catched by his wet tongue. a high-pitched keen leaves your throat when he shoots his load inside you, coating your gummy walls white. your toes curl as you finally feel yourself tip over the edge, spiraling into the throes of orgasm.
your mind deconnects for a second before your vision finally becomes clear. you see him above you, panting as he holds your gaze. the primal glint in his eyes is still there, even though it's been the 3rd time already that he made you cum.
"please... a break. can't take it anym- mph!" your plea is cut off brutally when he pulls out his cock out of you to shove it back inside harder, his dick already hard again.
"you think i'm letting you go now that i finally got you after all this time? fucking idiot. you are mine now."
OBSESSED with the concept of ilya getting annoyed with shane for babying their crying little whiny clingy girlfriend (ilya babies her too let’s be honest)
shane’s a protector. ilya, sure, he watches out for you. but he’s not afraid to hurt your feelings- or play rough.
so when you come babbling to shane about ilya being an asshole again, the soft boy has no choice but to tuck you into his chest and run his fingers up and down your back.
“how did he hurt your feelings?” he asks, voice as soft as fur, sweet and tender. he prods at your wounds, making you relive the horror.
“he blew me off for practice, again, for like the fifth time.” you pout, rightfully so. but at the same time, shane’s been in the same boat. but shane’s attentive to others feelings. lilys domain lies in pleasure, but shane’s is comfort, nurturing soul that he is.
“i’m sorry sweet girl.”
“sorry for what now?” lilys voice cuts through, quit as a mouse since he heard your voices in the room, waiting to hear you talking about him. he knows what he’s done. and he’s sorry, but not really. he needs to win. he wants that trophy, so if skipping out on a few dry humping session with his girlfriend would help him succeed? why not?
but guilt hits him like a train when he steps into the room, and find you curled into shane, who holds you like you could save the world. he evens cuts ilya a nasty glare. acknowledgment of the russians behavior.
pride is a fickle thing though, so instead of apologizing right away, begging for forgiveness that would be given in an instant, he plays asshole yet again.
“you coddle her. it is ridiculous, hollander. she is not a baby to be soothed.” he scoffs, putting his stuff away.
“ilya, you’re an asshole,”
“and you act like your performance is going to be as good as last year, when we both know it won’t. and we both know the reason why.”
the words land like a bomb, with you jerking up and out of shane’s hold immediately. and even with his quick hands, you still manage to slip away.
both males break at once, “stop!” ones, a plea, the others, a command.
“come back.” shane calls out, firm. unusual. but he knows better. if you aren’t forced to stay in the room, you’ll leave and go to bed angry and hurt. he won’t stand for it. better to tough it out know.
and ilya- fuck he’s pathetic. all that bark and no bite. “i’m sorry, i am so sorry” he stutters out. you won’t even look in his direction and it makes him sick. why would he even say that? if anything you help them be better. you’re encouragement and support.
shane watches you, still curled into yourself and not looking at anyone. you look like you’ll vanish if he doesn’t act soon. “come here”, softer this time.
you take a hesitant step closer to him, and ilya follows in your footsteps. when you finally look at them, a tear falls down. and your lip wobbles slightly, preparing for more. you sniffle, and ilya crowds your space, “you know i don’t mean that. i should not have said that. i don’t mean it. please, please don’t leave” his big hands hold the backs of your arm, noses practically touching.
you literally couldn’t run or look away if you tried. “i don’t like you” you sniffle, and if he didn’t love you, he would have laughed. it’s surrender handed to him on a poorly concealed platter.
“yes you do, i like you too”
shane watches you guys with heavy eyes, ilya is such. hypocrite. shane does not baby you more. no way, this public display (they are literally in their shared bedroom!) is a clear sign that ilya is one big teddy bear.
if you want it (ilya rozanov x shane hollander x fem!reader) (part one)
summary: threesome with ilya & shane. that’s it. it’s hot. we all want it.
uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.
tags: threesome (m x m x f), they call her “bunny” but pls there is no pet play, canonically top!ilya/bottom!shane, dry humping, a lot of hair pulling, oral (m!receiving), p in v, they c*m at the same time ayyyy. unedited, i was just so excited and wanted to post.
♡ if you still want it (part two)
♡ if you need it (part three)
♡ you can have it (part four—finale)
♡ the shane & ilya collection
gotta do everything myself around here i guess. happy new year <3 love ya!
toronto, canada. january.
“You are just going to stand there?”
“No,” Shane sighs, face flaming. “I—I just—“
“You are going to join us some time, yes?”
“Yes!” Shane rubs at his neck.
Ilya sighs, head rolling back between his shoulders, braced on the mattress below him. Beside him, Bunny fiddles with the diamonds of her bracelet, shivering a little in the lace set Ilya insisted she wear. Black, intricate, beautiful. He likes to see her like that. Or, at least he used to.
This was new. This—Ilya, Shane, both of them in the bedroom with a woman. A woman Ilya once knew well, whose bedroom he frequented when he played her city. A woman he had years with—before and between years with Shane—but had not seen for a while. A woman he thought of only recently, and wanted to see if she still thought of him.
“Listen,” Bunny starts, pushing off the stack of pillows behind her. “If you guys aren’t sure—“
“He is sure,” Ilya interrupts sternly. “Just being chickenshit.”
She clicks her tongue at him, but continues to gaze at Shane in an adoringly sweet way from where he stands across the room. Hands fumbling and flexing at his sides, shoulders squared stiffly, only a pair of black Nike shorts hanging low on his hips. Ilya must like his play things in black.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to if you don’t want—“
“I want to,” he snaps.
Ilya’s brows shoot up, a little zing of excitement licking at his chest. Shane sighs, mouth opening and closing in a stuttered attempt at what Ilya knows is his need to apologize to the sweet girl beside him on the bed. But Ilya knows better. Ilya knows that she feels the same excitement he does right now, tingling and buzzing all over.
Ilya inhales deeply, reaching over to run the back of his knuckles over Bunny’s bare thigh. “Don’t worry, Hollander, you don’t have to fuck her. I will do all the work. As always.”
Shane scoffs, eyes rolling sideways. He mimics Ilya’s inhale, cursing the way his trembles in and out. Like a shudder.
“He likes to be center of attention,” Ilya tells her, chin tilted her way but eyes focused entirely on Shane, who colors red all over. “Good thing Bunny likes to give, yes?”
Shane swallows and it clicks in his ears. Bunny takes her lip between her teeth and slides off the bed, bare feet padding over white carpet. Pristine, like her skin, smooth and bare and probably so soft. Shane thinks about that when she approaches, and when her hands smooth over his bare chest, he actually shudders.
She is soft. Light and delicate and so fucking soft. She smiles at his reaction and blinks a set of long lashes. There’s sparkles on her cheeks. Her lips are perfectly pink.
“I really am a big fan, Mr. Hollander.”
“Mr. Hollander,” Shane chuckles, mouth twisting into a shy smile. Another lick of heat laps at his skin.
Ilya joins them across the room, cupping one hand around the nape of her neck and the other around Shane’s. He holds them, massages his thumbs into their pressure points. Both melt into his touch, lashes fluttering. It fills him with a pride and power that’s almost indescribable.
“She knows to be polite,” he explains. “Right, Возлюбленный?”
She nods, breaths shallow and blinks slow. Ilya tips his chin to watch her, the way she nestles into the roles he’s laying out for them. The roles they fall into so easily when they’re together—Ilya and Bunny, Ilya and Shane, and now all of them together. Why should things be different just because there’s three instead of two?
“And you?” Ilya turns to Shane, thumb settling in the junction between his jaw and throat. He swallows against it, big brown eyes doe-like and pleading. “You will be polite, too?”
Shane exhales. “Yes,” he whispers.
Ilya lets himself smile, too pleased with his adoring sweethearts to bother hiding it. But it lasts only a moment, before he drops his grip on both of them and steps back.
“Then come. I want you to be polite in bed.”
Shane looks at Bunny, watching after Ilya with glowing cheeks and her lip worried between her teeth again. Maybe it’s the sheer softness of her, or the absolute firmness of Ilya, or Shane’s need to please—but Shane finds himself reaching over and taking her hand. Leading her to the bed with their fingers laced together, and taking the smirk on Ilya’s face as a good sign.
“So sweet, Hollander. You will get first treat.”
Ilya rises to his knees, reaching for Shane—but Shane tugs Bunny forward and in front of him, until her knees hit the bed, and it surprises all of them when he flips her around to face him.
“No. She’s first.”
Ilya practically clambers to reach them, but their mouths are already on each other. Shane’s eyes pinch shut and their mouths are moving with slow, deliberate pace, tongues lolling and lips swelling with every touch. Their breaths pass between each other with noisy huffs, and Shane cradles her face with a care that makes her putty in his hands.
“Oh,” Ilya groans, pressing his chest against her back, running his hands along her arms. “Hollander, you do want her.”
He wants her. Yes, Shane wants her, but he wants Ilya to beam with that lion’s share of pride even more. He wants to give him the rush of power and pride and passion that he deserves. He wants Ilya to keep looking at him the way he is now.
She gasps as she’s ripped away from Shane’s mouth, Ilya’s hand tangled in her hair as force.
“That is enough. Bunny, hop over here for me.”
She lingers, rubbing spit-swollen lips together as she catches her breath and peers up at Shane. He’s a glorious kisser, better than she figured he’d be. Honestly, she pictured tonight being a show for Ilya, less of a game of hot potato between the two of them and more of a one man show—with two people trying to please him. She never thought Shane would care to include her.
“Go on,” Shane murmurs to her, thumb stroking over her bottom lip.
Ilya’s standing now, waiting beside the bed. He points to the center of the mattress when she turns, and she crawls there on her hands and knees. Slinking slowly, ass arched gracefully in the air. Shane tries not to watch it move, tries just to watch Ilya as he peels the boxers off his hips—but he can’t help to watch them both. The hard cock springing against Ilya’s toned stomach, the supple mounds of flesh jiggling and moving as she—their bunny—settled on her hands and knees where directed.
Ilya said he called her bunny because she always seemed on the move, hopping around with urgency. She was a workaholic and never let herself sit down, unless someone made her. She’s just so cute, he told Shane. They looked through her Instagram a few nights ago in bed, when curiosity got the best of Shane. She loves to please, Hollander.
They both gasp when Ilya’s hand comes down on her ass. Just once, sharp and swift and enough to raise the flesh like braille almost immediately. Shane swallows, and damn does his cock harden immediately. He runs his palm down the front of his shorts with a pained exhale.
“Hollander, here.” Ilya points to the space before her, against the headboard.
Shane hurries to the bed, tripping over his own feet as he goes. Ilya stops him with a hand against his waist, lips soft on his cheek.
“You are okay?” he whispers.
Shane nods so eagerly his teeth chatter. “Yes. Yes, ‘m okay.”
Ilya hums, replacing his mouth with the tip of his nose, ghosting over Shane’s cheek. It runs down his jaw, his neck, fanning hot breath over his flesh until his whole body wracks with shivers.
“Strip,” Ilya demands lowly, and the accent Shane swears will never lose its effect works its magic.
Shane hurriedly shoves his shorts and boxers down, kicking them somewhere behind him across the room. Bunny’s still arched in the center, down on her elbows with her hands out before her—but she lifts her head when she feels the bed dip, when she hears the soft, hollow breaths of Shane above her. Their eyes meet, a giddy anticipation thrumming between them.
It’s an odd intimacy, and they know the other feels it, too. To be at the mercy of someone they both care for deeply, and to be in it together. To experience pleasure all as one. Just because they wanted to.
Shane didn’t much care for having sex with women. He wasn’t particularly attracted to them like that, though he knew beauty when he saw it. But something about Bunny was different. She wasn’t just some woman—she was a gift for him to share with Ilya. Something just for them. It was his only way to explain his sudden want for what had otherwise always gone undesired.
“You two want to kiss again?” Ilya muses, monotonous and snarky.
Shane shifts on the bed and Bunny lets her head drop, concealing her coy grin in the sheets. Ilya takes their silence as affirmation and hums as he saddles up behind Bunny, hands bracing her hips to pull her down against his bare cock. Her mouth drops open, a gasp muffled by the mattress. He grinds her there a minute, chuckling when her hips tilt, chasing after the friction of their pulsing sexes. Shane watches Ilya turn a telltale sign of pink—the tops of his ears, across his chest, his lips a deeper shade. He feels his own pleasure warm him all over, settle in the pit of his stomach, pool in his cock. He reaches to tug at it as Ilya pulls Bunny back harder, bouncing her clothed sex against his bare cock.
“She does not like to be teased,” he tells Shane, snickering when Bunny confirms this with a desperate whine. She reaches behind her to pull at the fragile band of her panties only to be smacked away. “But I like to make her work for it. Like you, Возлюбленный.”
Shane hears his own breathing, louder than he’d like it to be. Pants that linger and slip into small whimpers, something like a hungry puppy, waiting for a treat. He watches the two of them in pure fascination, utter wonderment. Her noises are musical, so melodic and sweet. Ilya’s are the same as always, deep and animalistic. The cross around his neck glistens in every jump from his chest, urged by the force of his body moving.
“I should stop teasing, yes?” Ilya asks, and Shane looks away from Bunny’s writhing form to Ilya’s raised brows, a look of expectation.
Shane nods, just as Bunny whines out a long “yesss,” that has Ilya laughing. The grin on his face is sardonic and cruel and so fucking exciting. Shane shifts on the bed again, tightening his fist around his cock.
“Was not asking you, Bunny. But since you are so desperate—up.”
She springs up—like a bunny, Shane thinks amusedly—on her palms and blinks blearily at Shane. His mouth drops a little more, another bated breath escaping him. Her gaze drops to his moving hand, the slow circles he’s making over his aching cock. Her shoulders slump a little, and he thinks he’s dreaming the drool in the corner of her mouth.
Ilya lets them have their moment, if only briefly. He enjoys watching them interact, his sweethearts. They’re the same, the two of them—sweet as honey, soft as silk, all gooey in the middle. They’d do anything to make the ones they love happy. They chase pleasure with an insatiable crave, with a desperate need. They make the perfect pair for Ilya.
“Go on,” Ilya murmurs, hands still firm and warm over Bunny’s hips. They slide in the curve of her waist, tracing the shape of her. She feels his breath at her ear, over her cheek, fanning with every word against her. “You want him in your mouth, yes?”
“Yes,” she gasps, nodding fervently.
“Fuck,” Shane sighs, and he slides down as if to meet her halfway, still working his cock painstakingly slow.
“Tell her you want that, Shane.”
Shane sighs again, long and languid as his head falls back. The sheer thought of her warm, plush lips around him makes his insides squirm. He thinks of the way Ilya does it, all throat and wet heat. If he wonders how hers will feel; how her smaller hands will feel touching him all over.
“I want it,” Shane whispers, fixing his head straight to say it to Bunny, who watches him in her own state of breathlessness. “Want your mouth, Bunny.”
Ilya guides her there, inching her forward until she hovers over Shane’s lap. He can feel her warmth even there, smell the sweetness of her perfume, the berry scent of a lipgloss that lingers on her mouth and that he can taste remnants of on his own. Ilya’s knees are on the bed now, and he settles back on his haunches to slip his finger in the band of her panties, sliding it down until he finds the center of hot dampness that makes her gasp. He smirks, poking with just one finger until she jolts forward, hands grasping Shane’s sides.
“I will fuck you,” Ilya declares, slipping another finger in. “And you will let Hollander fuck your throat. Is your dream, yes, Bunny?”
Bunny moves her head in another quick nod. “Yes. Please, Ilya.”
Her dream? Did girls dream about shit like this? Shane’s insides twist again at the thought, and wrench even further around themselves when she drops her mouth open above his cock. He stops his movements and shivers when her bottom lip grazes him.
“Wait,” Ilya coos, peeling Bunny’s panties down her legs. “Want to be inside you. Want to feel you together.”
Shane huffs impatiently, but obliges and runs the head of his cock over Bunny’s lip instead. Traces the curve of her mouth, feels the slick spit gathering in the dip of her bottom lip. She lets her tongue dart out to flick at his head and he jerks, glancing at Ilya, and then sharing a glinted look with Bunny. Her lip coils into a grin, something beautiful and bashful and full of mischief. It makes his heart skip. Ilya chose perfectly.
Ilya taps his cock once, then twice against Bunny’s dripping core, the obscene wet slap making Shane even more impatient. Ilya guides himself inside her with one hand, the other gripping the dip of her waist before her hip. He pulls her back gently to meet him until they’re flush against each other, both releasing sounds of juxtaposing octaves but synonymous pleasure.
Shane glances at Ilya again, brows pinched and eyes perfectly round in that wonderfully pleasing way that makes Ilya go crazy. It has him rutting a little harder into Bunny when he nods his approval at Shane. Her nasally whine breaks with the intrusion of Shane’s cock in her mouth, his hands big and warm on her head. He doesn’t push her, doesn’t control her, only gently guides her down over his length.
His fingers bury their way in her hair—and fuck, even that’s soft. Like her mouth, small and hot and so wet it makes him wonder how long he’ll really last. Like his first time with Ilya, when the sheer promise of his mouth over his cock in that hotel bed, freshly eighteen, made him battle the edge in a matter of seconds.
Ilya pistons his hips forward, driving his cock into Bunny with steady intention. It has her jolting forward, whimpering in the middle of her throat. He watches Shane’s face pinch, his eyes sink closed, his head fall back to thump into the headboard. He knows the sweetness Bunny’s mouth delivers, and it makes him happy to know Shane’s getting to experience it.
One time, “just to try it” experience or not, Ilya wants commit this moment to memory for as long as he can.
“Feel good, Hollander?” Ilya purrs, sweeping his hand down the decline of Bunny’s arched back.
Shane nods quickly, swallowing loudly. “Uh-huh.”
“Aw, you are making him feel so good, honey.” It’s directed to her now, bobbing her head and hollowing her cheeks over his boyfriend’s cock.
She takes the encouragement in stride, moving her head deeper, faster, a wet suction echoing through the room that has even Ilya grunting. Shane yelps, a glorious look of agony etched into the softness of his features. His hands tighten in her hair on instinct, scrunching strands in his fists until her scalp stings. Bunny inhales sharply through her nose and tosses her ass back against a dumb-struck Ilya.
He quickly corrects, hand coming down on her ass. “Yeah, just like that, Bunny. So good with your mouth.”
Shane doesn’t know if he’s moving her head or if she’s doing it on her own, but he finds his fists moving up and down with every bob of her mouth over his length. He forces his eyes open to watch Ilya, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, all toned, clean lines and taut muscle in dim light. His stomach flexes with every thrust, wide expanse of shoulders tense and alert with every exploration of Bunny’s soft, winding curves.
Ilya watches Shane in return. He watches Shane turn a million shades of pink and red, watches dampness bead along his hairline, gather over his bare chest. He watches his lashes flutter with every bob of Bunny’s head, the veins in his forearms press against his flesh when he tightens his grip on the girl’s hair, his lips part to exhale or gasp or moan beautifully.
They watch each other fuck someone else, and it makes them fucking wild.
Ilya mouth curls sideways even before he picks up pace, but his smirk deepens when Bunny falters at the drive of his cock inside her. Merciless and deep, hitting the spot within her that only he’s ever been able to reach. The suction around Shane’s cock release with a wet pop, confirmed only by the long whine she screams through the room.
Shane groans, swirling his cock along the lazy tongue that pokes out to find it, the mouth still desperate to please despite her body’s sudden inability to.
Ilya lets it happen for what feels like an eternity—this loss of pleasure for Shane, this override of it for Bunny—until he leans forward and snatches her back by a fistful of hair.
He stops completely. Moving, thrusting, fucking. He pulls Bunny flush against his chest, a damp smack of flesh on flesh, and Shane’s chest stutters with an uneasy intake of breath. Her nipples are hard against the thin lace of lingerie. The channel of her throat is long and beautiful. His boyfriend is a fucking god.
“You want me to keep fucking you?” Ilya growls in her ear.
Bunny swallows, panting up into the blue gaze boring into her. She attempts to nod, but his grip is too tight. She sweeps her hands over the thickness of his thighs behind her, nails grazing the warm muscle. His cock is lodged so deeply inside her that she feels it pulse between her walls.
“Y-yes, yes,” she breathes.
Ilya traces her cheek with his nose and presses his lips firmly to her jaw. “Then keep fucking sucking.”
He releases her roughly and Shane feels a sudden need to smooth her hair, wipe the tears pricking the inner corners of her eyes, clean free the mascara melting down her cheeks. But she’s back down on her elbows flattening her tongue along the underside of his cock, and she’s taking him back into her mouth in one swallow, and he’s pulling away from the headboard to clutch her head in one wide palm to hold her close.
“Fuck!”
Ilya hums, the salacious smirk returning as he drops his palm in another sharp smack across her ass. “Is better. Deeper, Bunny.”
Could it go any deeper? Shane wonders. He’s not so sure, but Ilya’s hunching over Bunny and pushing his hand over Shane’s to guide her down to his pelvis, and Shane gasps.
“Ilya, she can’t—“
She can’t breathe, he wants to say. But Ilya would’ve only tightened his grip and grumbled something along the lines of I know. Because little does Shane know—something he’d soon figure by the rock of her hips against Ilya’s cock and the crazy tremor in her thighs—that Bunny loves this.
And Shane doesn’t even care anymore. He doesn’t care if she can breathe—even though, of course he does—or if Ilya’s fucking her too hard and the bed’s starting to whine beneath them, knocking the headboard into the wall behind them, because the pleasure shooting sparks through his veins is enough to erase all thought from his mind. Like, erased clean. An utter void of pleasure when he shuts his eyes and bucks his hips into her working mouth, fucking through her gags and splutters, unintentionally matching a pace Ilya sets behind her.
Shane grits his teeth, palm heavy against Bunny’s head, pinned beneath Ilya’s own still lingering, still directing. It gives him an angle that has him chasing an impending high, tingling in his cock and working its way to the surface. To watch Shane come undone, become feral by a mouth he put there makes Ilya dizzy.
“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” Shane whines, the tilt of his hips into her mouth becoming lazy, slow.
Ilya lets his hand roam between Bunny’s thighs, finding the pulsing bundle of nerves with two nimble fingers. He moves in small circles, spreading slickness and practically holding her up when she begins to shake violently.
It’s a masterpiece when they come together. A full mouth, a spurt of warmth across the plain of her back. She chases Ilya’s fingers for only a moment before they become painful, fondling the nerves now fried with pleasure.
And then they’re a mess of limp limbs and wanton pants. Shane collapses against the headboard, fingers massaging Bunny’s head aimlessly. She presses a sticky cheek to his thigh, pinned by the heavy weight of an exhausted Ilya behind her. He presses his head to her spine, thumbs rubbing in the small of her back to ease the ache of her arch. His tongue flattens against her flesh, cleaning his own release from her until she shivers.
“That,” Ilya sighs, lifting to kneel above them with a sunny smile, “was fucking crazy.”
ilya being mean during sex (18+)
warnings: fem reader, slapping (one slap), mild degradation, mention of crying, slight size kink, and an unspecified relationship.
ilya can be so mean sometimes, especially when he’s hunched over you with his cock pressing deep in your gummy walls.
you’re not even sure how long you’ve been like this, with teary eyes and your cunt feeling impossibly full. ilya has a hand grasping your chin, calloused fingers pressing into your soft cheeks to pucker your kiss swollen lips together.
“c’mon, tell me what you want.”
you whimper in response, because ilya knows exactly what you want. his hips have been flush against your for what feels like ages now, the mushroomy head of his cock pressing right up against your cervix.
“pweash ‘lya mmove,” you attempt to whine out, and ilya laughs at how your words bleed together because of how he’s forcefully puckering your lips.
“sorry, can you say that again?”
your eyes prickle with more tears, because you’ve waited long enough already and you’re tired of his teasing. so your hips buck up against his, causing him to press harder against the entrance of your cervix.
the dull ache of him combined with the small amount of friction is practically euphoric after he’s denied you for so long, but ilya doesn’t let you get away with it.
his hand lets go of your chin in favor of laying a slap across your cheek. it’s a sharp momentary sting, but it’s enough to pull a soft cry from your lips.
“bad,” he scolds, like you’re a dog he’s trying to put back into its place.
his hands grasp at your hips, keeping your hips still and flush against his to keep you from moving again.
Ilya Rozanov Imagines ( I’ve added all my Ilya fics on Wattpad, so if you’d like to read more, feel free to check them out! I’ll leave the link here 💗)
Morning light makes everything softer.
The kitchen smells like butter and coffee and something warm turning golden in the pan. You’re barefoot, hair still damp from a quick shower, wearing one of Shane’s oversized T-shirts because it’s the first thing your hand found and you like the way it hangs off your shoulder.
The house is quiet except for the gentle sizzle of eggs.
You’re flipping a pancake when you hear footsteps upstairs,two different rhythms, one careful and one lazy. Shane’s is measured, like he’s already thinking about the day. Ilya’s is confident, almost bouncing, like gravity is negotiable.
You don’t turn right away.
You smile into the steam rising from your mug.
Then you hear Ilya’s voice, warm and sleepy.
“Ох… смотрите.” Oh… look.
Shane’s voice follows, low, fond. “What are you doing?”
You glance over your shoulder. Both of them are at the bottom of the stairs.
Shane is in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair still a little messy, blinking like he’s still waking up. Ilya is in just a T-shirt and shorts, hair sticking up in a way that makes him look younger, softer. Neither of them has fully entered the kitchen yet, like they’re paused in the doorway just watching you.
Your chest tightens in that gentle, domestic way that feels like home.
“Making breakfast,” you say simply, as if it isn’t obvious.
Ilya steps into the kitchen first, drawn by the smell and the sight of you like he has no choice. Shane follows slower, more cautious, but his eyes don’t leave you.
“I thought you were asleep,” Shane says.
“I was,” you reply. “Then I woke up and realized I wanted pancakes.”
Ilya makes a pleased sound. “Good choice.”
Shane raises an eyebrow. “You’re actually cooking?”
You glare at him playfully. “Excuse me?”
He holds his hands up. “No, no. I just,last time you tried to cook, you almost set off the smoke alarm.”
“That was one time,” you protest.
Ilya grins. “It was iconic.”
“It was traumatic,” Shane corrects.
“You both survived,” you say, turning back to the stove. “So clearly I’m improving.”
Ilya drifts closer behind you, and you feel his presence before he touches you. His hands settle lightly on your hips, and he leans in to press his face into your neck.
“You smell like soap,” he murmurs.
“And butter,” you add.
He hums, like that’s perfect. Then he says softly, in Russian, “Ты такая красивая утром.”
You’re so beautiful in the morning.
You freeze for half a second.
Shane pauses mid-step, looking between you and Ilya.
You turn your head just enough to glance at Ilya. “What did you say?”
Ilya’s lips curve, pleased with himself. “I said you’re beautiful in the morning.”
You swallow, warmth blooming in your chest. “In Russian.”
“Yes.”
Shane snorts softly. “Of course.”
Ilya looks at him like he’s offended. “What? It’s romantic.”
“It’s suspicious,” Shane replies automatically.
You laugh. “It is a little suspicious.”
Ilya clicks his tongue. “Fine. I will do English. You are beautiful in morning. Happy?”
Shane nods. “Less suspicious.”
Ilya looks at you, eyes bright. “But Russian is better.”
“Why?” you ask, flipping a pancake.
He shrugs, voice dropping. “Feels more… honest.”
That makes Shane go quiet for a second.
You feel it,the way the room shifts when emotion sneaks in. It always does, with you three. It’s never loud. Just… present.
You slide pancakes onto a plate. “Okay. Then say something else.”
Ilya’s eyebrows lift. “You want more?”
“Yes,” you say calmly. “I want more.”
He grins like he’s won something. “Okay.”
He leans closer again, hands still on your hips, and murmurs, “Ты моё солнце.”
You’re my sunshine.
You blink, smiling despite yourself. “That’s cute.”
Shane clears his throat. “Do I get a translation for that one too?”
Ilya looks at him, deadpan. “No.”
Shane’s mouth twitches. “Rude.”
Ilya gestures vaguely. “She is sunshine. You are… Canadian cloud.”
Shane stares at him. “I’m sorry?”
You laugh, nearly dropping the spatula. “Canadian cloud?”
Shane points at you. “See? This is what I deal with.”
“You love him,” you say sweetly.
Shane exhales like he’s resigned. “Unfortunately.”
Ilya looks offended. “Unfortunately?”
Shane walks to the counter and steals a piece of bacon. “You’re unbearable in the morning.”
Ilya leans over your shoulder, whispering, “He is flirting.”
Shane rolls his eyes. “I’m eating.”
“You always flirt when you eat,” Ilya says.
Shane chews and glares at him.
You set a plate in front of Shane. “Sit.”
Shane obeys immediately, because he’s disciplined like that. Then he looks up at you, expression softening.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he says.
You tilt your head. “I wanted to.”
Shane’s gaze flicks to your shirt. “Is that mine?”
You glance down. “Yes.”
He nods once, satisfied. “Okay.”
Ilya scoffs. “He likes when you wear his clothes.”
Shane looks at Ilya. “You like when she wears yours too.”
Ilya smirks. “Yes. But I don’t pretend I don’t.”
You turn, pointing the spatula at them. “Both of you stop. Eat.”
Ilya slides into the chair beside Shane but keeps his hand on your thigh as you move around the kitchen. Like he needs contact to stay grounded.
Shane watches you quietly.
“You’re smiling,” you point out to him.
He blinks. “Am I?”
“Yes,” you say. “Why?”
Shane glances down at his plate, then back at you. “It’s just… nice.”
Ilya makes a soft sound. “He means domestic.”
Shane shoots him a look. “I mean calm.”
Ilya shrugs. “Same thing.”
You place a plate in front of Ilya. “Eat. No commentary.”
He looks at the food, impressed. “This is actually good.”
“Thank you,” you say.
He grins. “Поварёнок.”
Little chef.
You narrow your eyes. “Is that an insult?”
“No,” he says quickly. “It’s cute.”
Shane mutters, “He’s going to make Russian your love language.”
“I’m not complaining,” you admit.
Shane points his fork at you. “You will when he starts saying things you can’t translate.”
Ilya smirks. “Too late.”
You sit between them with your own coffee, the warmth of their shoulders on either side of you. It’s a simple moment,breakfast, sleepy smiles, a quiet morning,but it feels like something you want to keep forever.
Shane takes a bite and nods. “Okay. These pancakes are actually good.”
You grin. “Told you.”
Ilya chews thoughtfully, then says, “I approve.”
Shane glances at him. “You approve?”
“Yes.”
Shane’s mouth twitches. “Like a king.”
Ilya nods. “Exactly.”
You laugh. “You two are impossible.”
Shane looks at you, eyes soft. “And you love us.”
You pause.
Because he says it so simply. So sure.
You nod. “Yeah. I do.”
Ilya leans closer, his voice dropping. “And we love you.”
Shane hums in agreement. “Yeah.”
Your chest tightens again, warm and full.
You take a sip of coffee to hide it. “Okay, okay. Enough feelings. Eat your breakfast.”
Ilya’s hand squeezes your thigh under the table, gentle.
Shane’s knee nudges yours.
Neither of them pushes. They never do. They just… stay close, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
After a moment, Ilya tilts his head. “Say something Russian to Shane.”
Shane freezes. “No.”
You grin. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t speak Russian,” he says flatly.
“You don’t have to,” you reply. “You just have to accept it.”
Shane exhales. “Fine. What do you want me to say?”
Ilya’s eyes brighten. “Say: ‘Я люблю тебя.’”
Shane squints. “That sounds like a trap.”
“It’s not,” you promise, laughing.
Shane looks between you and Ilya. “If this is embarrassing, I’m blaming both of you.”
Then he looks at you,soft, vulnerable, honest,and says, in English, because he needs you to understand without any barriers:
“I do.”
Your breath catches.
Ilya goes quiet too, like even he recognizes the weight of that moment.
Shane clears his throat, suddenly flustered. “Okay. Eat. Stop looking at me.”
Ilya grins. “He is blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” you say, smiling.
Shane mutters, “This is why I hate mornings.”
“You love mornings,” you tease.
“I love this,” he corrects, gesturing vaguely at the three of you. “I just hate… being perceived.”
Ilya laughs. “Too late. We perceive you.”
You lean your head against Shane’s shoulder for a second, then against Ilya’s. A small, quiet motion that says I’m here.
Ilya murmurs, “Ты наша.”
You’re ours.
Shane immediately looks up. “What did he say?”
You smile sweetly. “He said… I’m yours.”
Shane’s expression softens. “Yeah.”
Ilya adds, with a grin, “And you are ours too.”
Shane shakes his head. “That one I understood without translation.”
You laugh, and the sound fills the kitchen like sunlight.
Breakfast continues,teasing, small touches, easy warmth.
And for a moment, everything feels simple.
Like love can be this: pancakes and Russian compliments, Shane pretending he’s annoyed, Ilya pretending he’s not sentimental, and you right in the middle of it,exactly where you want to be.
hearing his groans and grunts behind you as he fucks into you with a steady, punctual rhythm. his hands pressing into the fat of your hips and waist, callouses trailing up your skin to play with your erect nipples. everything having a messiness born of eagerness to it—his hands fumbling just bit as he wraps a hand around your waist and pulls your back to his chest, his fingers missing your throat the first time and sprawling possessively across your clavicle, his teeth baring against your earlobe and his canines slipping into the entrance of the canal just enough to make you jolt.
you're completely as his mercy like this, something so rare when the two of you fuck. because even though ilya has an innate dominance to him when it comes to sex, you love to pushback. to argue. to be bratty, as he puts it. and like this, on your hands and knees, taking cock from behind, you have no choice but to sit there and take it.
you have some say, sure. say in if you press your chest to the bed or if you rise up and link your arms around his neck for stability, but even then most of it is up to ilya. and that gentle, juxtaposed domineering comes to play.
you're spread so open like that, your most intimate parts bare to him, and ilya takes advantage of it. he spits on your puckered asshole and spread the glob around with his thumb. he pulls his cock out of you to tease his tip over your clit and up towards your asshole, never breaching that tiny threshold between.
because of your openness, things need to be a little more intense for you to feel it most times. strong thrusts to reach that area right before your cervix that makes your lower back tingle. a fast rhythm that makes your voice wobble pornographically. his fingers reaching to pass over your clit in blissfully mind numbing stimulation.
but then sometimes he slows it down and makes you feel every single thing. he pulls your legs together, inner thighs kissing, so you can feel the drag of his veiny cock inside of you. he bends over you, chest to your back, essentially mounting you as he prompts you with words whispered in your ear, making sure you're incredibly aware and disassociated at all.
"can you feel that? you feel my cock in you? feels good, no?"
pairings ; connor storrie x fem!tipsy!reader x hudson williams
not proofread!!!!!
wc ; 1.5k words (woah :00!!!)
summary ; you get drunk in front of the boys for the first time..
warnings ; some flirting and touching a lil steamy!!!!!! nothing too crazy everyones had a little too much to drink whoopsies!
a/n ; a little blurb i thought of, don't take it seriously i'm just honestly being consumed by heated rivalry :pp
you were excited, in fact you were ecstatic the reception to Heated Rivalry had been so positive
this was one of the first projects your marketing team allowed you to lead on and you felt immense pressure to deliver, and you did!
you could feel your heart pounding out of your chest when you stepped foot in the afterparty and almost immediately, your eyes found them
you'd grown quite fond of hudson and connor, from sneaking late night cigarettes to early morning coffee runs (i swear, half your camera roll is just your guys' hangouts)
they're both chatting with some costars and hudson almost immediately rips away from them to greet you, connor politely excuses them from the conversation only moments later when he hears your addictive little laugh
you're busy staring at the sparkling disco ball and red-hued lights before you can see the black-haired boy engulfing you in a bear hug
you blink before realizing its hudson, your hudson who kisses the back of your hands, pays for your coffee, softly inquires for your opinions, and looks at you in a more than friendly way
"you look," he huffs out after pulling back and scanning your face
"pretty?" you mockingly bat your eyelashes at him while pulling him closer, fixing his blouse collar
"hot, but yeah that works too" he smoothes out your dress before resting his hands on your waist
your eyes pop out of your face before you begin giggling into his chest
he takes you into the bar area where he pulls a chair out for you to sit and excuses himself to get you guys some drinks
"hey sweetheart," connor purrs into your ear "I thought I heard your cute little laugh"
you embrace him in a hug that seems a little too long to be friendly and you swear you could feel him stiffen when you rub your hand on his lower back
"I was wondering when you'd show up, was getting worried" he pulls up a chair next to you and sips on his drink
"you know I'd never miss a chance to see you, connie" your manicured nails meet his sharp jawline and you can visibly see him soften into your touch
"ah, was wondering when you'd show up" you both turn to hudson as he passes you a drink and pats connors back
connor laughs lowly before responding "couldn't resist saying hello to my best girl." he toys with some of the hair in front of your face before pushing it back
hudsons eye's linger on connors hands in your hair before pulling his chair closer to you clanking your drinks together, "cheers, sweet thing."
connor cuts you off by pushing his glass towards both of yours before responding, ""cheers, can't wait to see what she looks like drunk."
"that's right, we havent." hudsons little smirk turned into a sinister smile
you blushed and tsked "boys, atleast buy me dinner," picking up your glass and chugging it
it burned your throat and almost brought tears to your eyes, you felt yourself cringe from the bitter liquid but it quickly subsided into a warm feeling that moved around in your stomach and relaxed your nerves, you could feel your cheeks get reddish and hot as you adjusted yourself in your seat
"so," connor inquired "what do you think she's like drunk, hudson?"
"I would kill to see her get snappy at us for once, can you imagine?" Hudson gripped his glass, audibly groaning and tipped his head back imagining you catching an attitude
you'd always been so sweet and kind you had no reason to be anything else, but they both couldn't help but imagine how attractive it would be to see you boss them around with no regards
you eyebrows were knitted together as you laughed lightly "why don't you get us another round and find out?"
"already getting coy with me, lightweight? careful, im the one buying your drinks." hudson teasingly warned while toying with the rings on your fingers
"start a tab, pretty boy" you patted his cheek twice before pushing yourself off your seat to get the bartenders attention for more drinks
now it was hudsons turn to go silent and blush as connor audibly laughed at him
· · ────────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────── · ·
a couple drinks later and you're feeling great (somewhat)
sure, you couldn't really walk in a straight line but you could dance like you were an extra in footloose
the bass was pounding in the crowded club and you snaked your way into the center of sweaty bodies, your energy was at an all time high and you hair was tousled
you could feel your makeup sweating off your face, but you couldn't find it in you to care, as the alcohol worked its magic and you became, well, loose
you were moving your body, lip syncing, and moving your hips on beat with whatever song the dj put on, and you could feel two pairs of eyes burning on you
you couldn't do anything but laugh
soon, the music started to quiet and dull down and you noticed how hot it was and quickly ran out to catch some air
pushing pass the bodies of people making out, you push the door open to greet to cold crips wind of december
just as you inhale the fresh air you hear the footsteps of someone
you quickly turn and see hudson and connor holding your purse and jacket, connor getting a little closer to you
"wanna get outta here?" connor asked, caressing your cheek and smirking
you shock turned into a smile before you responded, "lead the way cowboy"
you're being carried by hudson and connors holding you heels and purse as you wrap your arms around hudson's neck, laughing into the cool winter night
the three of you find a quiet alley with a bench which you all sit on with a groan, feeling exhausted for the first time tonight
you're sat inbetween the two of them in comfortable silence before rest your head on hudson's thighs and pull connor on top of you, he immediately complies
hudson stares at you both with his mouth parted and you quietly whisper to them both, "we can blame this on the drinks tomorrow, yeah?"
connor couldn't verbally respond but studied your face and lips as he nodded before he dipped his mouth onto yours, slipping in his tongue almost immediately
connor groaned in your mouth and parted your legs with his knee to rest in between them and angled his head to deepen the kiss
you felt hudsons hands caressing your hair and kneading your neck which made you shiver deeper into the kiss, both your faces moving and almost melding together
you gently guide yourself and connor off hudson's lap and give connor a quick little peck before turning to hudson
you can hear you breath hitch as you ask, "can I? just once," you see him lick his lips before nodding and grabbing you, crashing you lips together
you laugh into the kiss before kissing down his neck
he carries you by your thighs and you let out a yelp and laugh loudly, playfully swatting at him to let you go while your other hand holds connor's while hes peppering kisses up your hand
hudson pushes you against the stone wall, cushioning your head against the wall with his own arms
you begin kissing more before you quickly pull away and ask for connor to put your heels on again
connor begins to kneel on the cobblestone ground with no hesitation and straps your heels back on as hudson is positioned behind you kissing and nipping at your neck only propelled by your soft whimpers
"fuck, keep making that sound" hudson moans into your neck
connor gets back up and begins to swap spit with you again, hudson behind you groping any part of you he can get
your hands are deep in connors hair and hes gently holding you face, as if you're fragile glass
hudson is feeling you up like you were made for him to squeeze and fondle
you both pull back with hot and heavy breaths before giggling into hudsons touch behind you and swinging your hand with connors
you could feel the butterflies in your stomach and everything in your body shaking as you look at them both
"you taste like trouble," connor teasted, biting your lip
"I taste like gin," you let out a breathy laugh and hold his hair, toying with his curls
"yeah, well same thing." hudson rests his forehead on your shoulder
you feel mind-numbingly happy and cold at the same time as all three of you walk into the streetlights and sidewalks
"first one to hail a cab gets lucky tonight" you purr to them jokingly
both boys run, pushing eachother in sabotage and yelling 'TAXI!' and jumping up and down and laughing
'God, I love my job,' you thought, wearing a dopey smile following behind them
hey hoes, we’re finally back with part two to messy! hope y’all like it! :3
contains: dom! ilya, degrading, praise, crying during sex (short mention but idc), making out, mutual orgasm
“so fucking good..” you mumbled under your breath. at this point you kinda forgot how long you and ilya had been on this bed or in this room for that matter
he was deep, and currently abusing your cervix with every thrust. your stomach was on the bed as ilya was right behind you, knocking the breath out of you each time his hips snapped.
“ilya..i-i fuck i can’t” you whimpered out. beginning to feel the pure overstimulation that he was so damn good at giving.
tears began to spill from your eyes as you pawed at his forearms. desperate for anything to cling onto. “what? it’s not good?” he teased. knowing damn well what was actually going on, what he was doing to you. “crybaby..” he murmured right into your ear in his thick accent.
before you could think another thought he was right back there again, bruising your insides. “pretty, so pretty. taking it all” he praised. wanting to see you fall apart, see you break.
“ilya please..i wanna cum please” you pleaded as his thrusts got more sloppy. sensing he was close as well. “cum then. i’m close” he told you. and with his hand sneaking around to rub your clit. that did you over. as you let out a strangled whimper cumming around him.
not long after, ilya came inside. slowing his thrusts and letting out a string of curses in russian. his hands coming up to grab your jaw and slam his lips onto yours. hands trailing down to your waist as he admired the mess you both created.
