Ya Soshla S Uma | Ilya Rozanov x Male! Reader 18+
Summary: Friends with benefits for years, with the promise of nothing more, you can't take the secrecy and end things with Ilya after a big fight. Now, at your first game against each other since you broke things off, you both realize neither of you can stay away.
Genre: Smut, angst
Tags: MINORS DNI, inaccurate depictions of hockey, honestly angst with a dash of smut, locker room quickie, when i say quick i mean quick lmao fear of getting caught, anxiety and panic from the reader during sex, Ilya being comforting, idiots in love but won't admit it, first name calling, top!ilya, bottom!Reader, Google translated Russian
Word Count: 2,028
a/n: saw an edit where someone used the russian and english version of this song for Ilya and Shane and it opened my third eye. This show have genuinely made me want to watch hockey, im slowly learning about it but anything I write is probably wrong lol. keep in mind i haven't written in like 3 years :D Hope you enjoy! Mwah!! Love Ya!
The bright lights of the stadium shone down on you. Staring down at the ice, you skate into your position at the center of the rink. Finally, you look up, coming face-to-face with him. Ilya Rozanov. It’s been three months since you saw him. Three months since your huge fight, where you broke things off. Three months since you’ve talked or even texted. But you thought about him every day, watched all of his games, tried drafting the perfect message over and over.
You’re the one who ended things; you shouldn’t be wanting to reach out to him as much as you did, but here you are. Now wasn’t the time to think about Ilya or his stupid face that you’d always see in your dreams; you had a game to win. Shaking your head, you put your mind to the task at hand. Dropping your stick down, you brace yourself for the face-off that’d start the game, staring Ilya down with a determined look. He smirks but doesn’t say anything.
You can tell he can see right through you, see that you missed him. What you couldn’t gather was whether he missed you. If he did, he didn’t let it show. That was the problem, you could never tell with him. He could read you like a book, and you never had any idea what he was thinking, what he was feeling. That was the crux of the fight you had months ago. You swallowed hard at the memory,
“What do you want me to do? Say we are something? We are nothing, Y/N nothing!” Ilya threw his hands up, exasperated.
“Nothing. We are nothing?”
“Yes. Nothing, we fuck, and that’s it.” He rubs his nose as he says it. He’s lying.
You squint at him, staying quiet for a moment. You’re giving him an out, a chance to take it back. To say he didn’t mean it.
He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t even look you in the eye.
Nodding quickly, you tried your best to keep the tears at bay. “Fine. We are nothing.”
Gathering up your stuff, you move to leave his apartment quickly.
The ref drops the puck onto the ice. The game was on. Quickly, you gain control of the puck and pass it to your teammate. No more thinking about Ilya unless it was about how you plan to beat him.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“Fuck!”
Your strong exclamation is quickly repeated, shorter this time in a whisper, as you hold your hand in pain from punching the locker in front of you.
“Fuck.”
You lost. You fucking lost. You couldn’t get your head in the game, and you lost. All because you couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid Russian with the curly hair and the gorgeous eyes. By now, all your teammates had left. They invited you out for drinks with them, but you declined, and now you are alone in the locker room trying to blow off steam.
Well, not completely alone. Speak of the devil.
“Be careful, you would not want to injure your hand.” A strong russian voice spoke suddenly.
It made you jump, and you quickly turned to see the culprit. Ilya Rozanov. You hadn’t even heard him come in.
“What are you doing here, Rozanov?”
“Since when am I Rozanov and not Ilya?”
“Since when were we nothing?” You shook your head and turned back to your locker, beginning to take off your gear.
You heard him sigh, and it was silent for a long moment. Then you felt his presence next to you, you paid him no mind. Or at least you tried to.
“Look at me.”
You don't, you just continue to put your stuff away in your locker angrily.
“Hey, look at me.” He says it more softly this time and places his hand on your chin, gently turning your face in his direction.
You don't make eye contact. Not right away. Tears start to well in your eyes, not only from sadness but also from frustration. All of it is becoming too much for you. The fight, the game, letting your team down. It's all piling up.
Ilya can see it, see the strain everything is taking on you. He presses his other hand firmly against the back of your neck, an attempt to ground you.
“Take a breath.”
You don’t obey at first, but the urgent look he sends you makes you comply. Closing your eyes, you let out a short, frustrated breath through your nose.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” You confirm. Keeping your eyes closed for a while longer, trying to keep the tears at bay. They end up slipping through anyway.
“What are you thinking about?”
You weren’t stupid, and you were far from naive despite what Ilya might think. You know that he’s in denial. If you had nothing, you wondered what something meant to him. You weren’t just fuck buddies; you didn’t meet at a bar and decide to keep it going. You were genuine friends at first. Maybe adding sex to your relationship was a mistake, but even after everything, you don’t regret it.
“I know we can never be something. Publicly at least. I know that-” Ilya wipes your tears away, and you let out a frustrated sigh, finally opening your eyes and looking at Ilya properly.
“-but do you really have to act like this is… that I mean nothing to you?”
“Ты для меня всё значишь.” You can’t understand him. But you don’t pry, you know it’s easier for him to express himself in Russian than in English.
“Мне жаль, I'm sorry.”
“What do you want from me, Ilya? Why are you here?” Your voice comes out more exhausted and exasperated than you intended. You were getting tired of this back-and-forth; you needed something tangible. Just something to
“Я просто хочу тебя.” He says it so softly, so quietly, and so earnestly. You wish you could understand. You yearn to know every sweet nothing he’s whispered to you in his native language. Maybe that was the problem; he couldn’t be vulnerable with you. Not in a way that you could both share.
You shake your head and take his hands off your face. You weren’t going to entertain this anymore. He couldn’t trust you, couldn’t talk to you, couldn’t give you a straight answer. Pushing yourself off the bench, you make a move to go past him. “I'm done with this, Ilya. Find someone else to string along.”
He grabs onto your hips and presses you against the lockers. “Let me show you-” He leaned down and kissed you. Every thought left your brain as his lips met yours. You kissed him back just as eagerly; you always felt at home kissing Ilya. This is where you wanted to be. When you pulled away, you chased after him, but he put himself to work right away as he began kissing down your neck. It pained you that this couldn’t be forever.
“-Show you everything I want to say.” His name slips through your teeth between whimpers as he nips and sucks at your neck.
“Ilya, we shouldn’t do this here. What if-”
He cuts you off. “Everyone is gone. We’ll be quick, you have no idea how bad I need you.” He whispers those words right into your ear, and it makes you shudder. He turns you around, pressing your front against the lockers. Pulling your pants down, he drops to his knees. Spreading your cheeks, he spits against your hole. He continues, licking and kissing in an attempt to get you wet enough for him, savoring each one of the moans that leave your lips. He was always good with his tongue, and he knew exactly how to drive you crazy. Your hand slammed against the locker. “Stop! I'm gonna-” You warned him of your incoming release, and he immediately backed off, rising back up to his feet. He turned your face to his and kissed you. He pushes his shorts down, revealing the very thing you were craving right now.
He spits on his cock, stroking himself before pushing the tip against your hole, moaning as he pushes it in. One hand gripping your hip, the other coming up next to yours on the lockers. “Gonna make you come on my cock, y/n. ” You moan, letting him know how much you want it.
And as he slips further inside you, he whispers these words as if you were his god-given solace, “Ебать, I missed you.”
The words make your knees weak. Ilya’s strong arm wraps around your front, helping you stand. Ilya pushes himself closer to you, using his body weight to keep you upright; it also moves him deeper into you, as if that were possible. His cock is thick, and it fills you up completely. With no condom, you feel all the parts of him you usually wouldn’t, and you love every second of it. “I missed you, too, Ilya.” Your voice comes out breathless, and it’s like music to his ears.
“Repeat it.” He says in between thrusts that are slow and deep, his cock hitting right where you need it. His lips are right against your ear. “Tell me again.” It’s a demand. Ilya urges you with another well-timed thrust that knocks the breath out of your lungs.
“I missed you.” What you really mean is, I love you. But that’s a secret you keep to yourself. You grip the hand he has on your chest, dropping your head down onto the locker door in front of you. He buries his face into your shoulder, moaning against you as he picks up the pace.
“Я тебя люблю-” Ilya says against your skin, like he’s breathing the words into you. Like he wants you to know that it’s true, like he wants the words to become a part of who you are. You don’t understand him, but you feel as though you’ve heard it before.
“Как бы мне хотелось сказать тебе, как сильно я тебя люблю.” He chokes up as he says it, the hand that’s braced up against the locker clenches into a fist. His thrusts are picking up in pace; the sound of his hips slapping against your behind echoes off the walls of the empty locker room.
He often speaks to you in Russian when you two sleep together. Nothing as long as that, though; usually it’s short, curt words that you can only assume are curses. The way he grabs at your chest and holds you so closely, like he doesn’t want to let you go. You allow yourself to get lost in the moment; you don’t want to think about what-ifs or the state of your relationship. You just want to keep the feeling of Ilya pressed up against your chest forever. His words help push you closer and closer to the edge. You reach behind you, grabbing at his thighs, wanting to feel every piece of him you can.
“Ily-” You cut yourself off with a whimper, but he knows what you want. You're close, and he’s right there with you.
“I got you, I got you.” He kisses underneath your ear, continuing his thrusts right up into your prostate.
“You’re mine.” He says it under his breath, but it’s loud enough for you to hear.
The second the words leave his lips, you’re done for, ropes of cum, and as you squeeze around Ilya’s cock in ecstasy, he follows soon after, the warm feeling of his release fills you up instantly. Your breath shudders as he continues with his thrusts until he’s completely spent.
Ilya pulls out, and immediately, it’s like your legs turn to jello. He chuckles and helps you stand. Placing a kiss on your temple, before taking a towel from his bag and beginning to clean you up.
“I’m yours?” You ask after he helps you sit down.
“You were always mine.” He says as he kisses you silly, you smile against his lips like a dope. Savoring the attention you were getting from him. You could only hope you weren’t making a mistake.
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translations:
Ты для меня всё значишь - you mean everything to me
Мне жаль - im sorry
Я просто хочу тебя. - i just want you
Ебать - fuck
Я тебя люблю - i love you
Как бы мне хотелось сказать тебе, как сильно я тебя люблю. - i wish i could tell you how much i love you
