about: Shane asks Ilya if he’s ever felt a fraction of what they feel for each other for someone else. He doesn’t anticipate having to answer that question too. He doesn’t anticipate having to tell Ilya about you.
pairing: married!hollanov x gn!reader (nickname: freddie), past young!shane hollander x young!gn!reader
contents: NSFW/18+/MINORS DNI, angst/fluff, insecurity, jealously, mental health issues of all kinds, illusion to past eating disorders, slow burn, friends to lovers, idiots in love, eventual throuple, eventual smut (m/m, m/gn, m/gn/m), more tags to come
wc: 1,587
an: yeah okay hi here we go. be nice ive never written them before and im only half through the second book! be kind!!!
the third constant masterlist
OCTOBER 2023
It’s all Shane’s fault.
He doesn’t know why he gets this way, but he worries a lot about Ilya’s past. About who he’s been with, who he’s cared for. He questions Ilya about it, hoping to be soothed and more often than not he is. But he never expects that question to be pushed back on him.
They’re sitting on the couch at the cottage in a similar fashion to when Ilya had come the first time; sharing clothes, under blankets, touching toes.
“And you?” Ilya looks at him expectantly.
“And me what?”
Ilya raises a brow. He can smell blood in the water; he’s struck a cord. “Have you cared for others?”
Shane has never cared for anyone the way he does Ilya, never deeply loved anyone in this way.
But there is…you. There has for so long been you.
So deeply embedded into his mind and past that he forgets you’re the anomaly to what had been lackluster connection until Ilya.
Shane hesitates and Ilya can practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“So yes,” Ilya answers for him.
Shane nods, turning his eyes towards his husband. He finds no anger, but he’s learned over time to read Ilya well and can see curiosity mixed with anxiety. “Yes.”
“Who?”
“Someone from school. Before all the hockey got intense.”
Ilya straightens up, ready to gather all the information he can. “What was his name?”
“Their name,” Shane mumbles.
Ilya frowns. “Multiple?”
“No they– they didn’t– they weren’t–” Shane’s words grow clumsy as he tries to explain who you are. What you are and aren’t. It was hard to grasp as a kid.
It hadn’t started that way when you and Shane had become friends.
But there were no secrets between you, just understanding and honesty. It happened fairly quickly into your friendship, you telling Shane that you didn’t want to be a boy or girl. That you just wanted to be. That your new name would be Freddie, because Fred from Scooby Doo was your favorite character. And though Shane couldn’t completely wrap his head around it at the age of 10, he knew that if that was what his best friend wanted, he would do it.
The crush on you, well that had come later.
“Oh. They as in them,” Ilya muses.
Shane smiles, nodding. “Yeah.”
“That is…different,” Ilya says, surprised.
Ilya has been intrigued by Shane from the moment his eyes landed on the freckles dusted on Shane’s cheeks. Fascinated by their differences, it’s part of what makes Shane so charming. He imagines he should’ve expected to be surprised by Shane’s history.
“They were my first real crush. That I can remember,” Shane amends quickly.
“Did you tell them?”
“Yes.”
“Did they like you back?”
“Yes.”
Oh. Ilya’s chest tightens with something…fear? Jealousy? He wants to know who this person is. What their name is, what they sound like and smell like. How they were able to pull Shane into their orbit.
“So,” Ilya prompts.
“We dated I guess. If you could call it that. We were 13. And then…”
Sometimes it feels like Shane is edging Ilya with conversations even though he knows Shane is just processing. Masking and computing.
“And then?”
“They left for art school. Hockey ramped up. We haven’t talked since they left.”
“Do you miss them?”
Shane felt like he needed to think about his answer, while having the answer sat in his hands. Of course he missed you. He didn’t let himself think about you much, but sometimes he would see an article about you. When he saw your work in an art museum once in St. Louis, he stood there to study it for hours.
Shane had wondered what they were like now amongst many other thing. Is their smile just as bright? Is their voice the same? Do they still love grape slushies and always have the right thing to say? Do they think about him? Would they still like him, the person he’s become now?
“Yes. I don’t think about them a lot. It makes me sad.”
Ilya notices the shift in Shane’s tone immediately. His eyes have grown softer, wetter. “I am jealous. But am sorry too,” Ilya says earnestly.
“You have no reason to be jealous. And thanks.”
“You puppy loved them. I am jealous.”
“Puppy loved,” Shane repeats skeptically, testing the words on his tongue.
Ilya doesn’t want to argue with him, not when he’s so emotionally raw. Not when Shane is realizing maybe there is someone else he’s loved and that has loved him. He deserves that, Ilya thinks. To be loved by as many people as he can with all the pressure on his shoulders.
—
Its been a week since that conversation on the couch. And while Shane let his thoughts drift there from time to time, its been at the forefront of Ilya’s mind ever since. He’s looked you up, wanting to put a face with the only other person Shane has ever experienced more with. You are incredibly good looking, but not what he expected Shane’s type to be with unique hair and tattoos. Soft but steady in your art, Ilya can tell that art school was no brainer. Your work is good, no its phenomenal. While he’s done his research the feeling inside him that took root when he learned about you has done nothing but grown.
Ilya wants to meet you. He needs to meet you.
Ilya wrinkles his nose before he speaks. “I have idea.”
Shane looks up from his breakfast, cautious. “Okay.”
“This Freddie of yours. What if you did not have to miss them?” Ilya pokes at his eggs, feigning coolness though he feels anything but.
Shane frowns, setting down his smoothie cup. “You’re still thinking about that? It’s been a week, Ilya. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“You did not answer question.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“You miss them. So we tell them and then we see them.”
Shane eyes go wide, his heart beating more quickly in his chest. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. Well, I looked them up. They are very talented, very precise work. Hot too, I can see why you wanted them.”
“I didn’t just want them, it was more than that,” Shane murmurs defensively.
“Puppy love,” Ilya suggests like he did that day.
“I guess.”
“Well, I want to meet them.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not? They are important to you.”
“Ilya.”
“Shane.”
“We haven’t spoken in almost 20 years.”
Ilya pivots his questioning, trying to bypass the logistical part of Shane’s brain and get to the feeling. “Do you think it would be nice to see them?”
“I don’t think its possible to see them.”
“Is not what I asked.”
“There’s no way I’m getting out of this conversation is there?”
Ilya is quiet but his eyes are expectant. Charged. Its all the answer Shane needs. He knows that when his husband wants something, he will certainly get it. And well, Shane honestly likes being a part of that– of getting Ilya the things that he wants and needs. He likes to be good and useful. To please.
It could also be nice to see you. Nerve wracking and possibly vomit inducing, but nice. He would get to ask all the questions he tucks away from himself. He would get to hear your voice and laugh. Maybe even give you a hug. Shane could get behind that, in fact he wanted to if you’d be open to it.
“Okay,” Shane says eventually.
“Okay?”
“Okay. I’ll have to look into how.”
“I know how. I have plan.”
Shane rolls his eyes. “Of course you do. You’ve been plotting for the last week on how to induce me into a panic attack.”
Ilya didn’t see it that way, not at least until right now. He just wanted to know the person that Shane loved. Not in the same way as they love each other, he knows saying that to Shane would push him further away. But its hard for Ilya to imagine– Shane loving someone else in that way. He doesn’t understand why but he wants to see it, he wants to give that opportunity to Shane over and over again. He’s not sure how to say that to Shane.
So instead he says, “I am sorry. I just want you to have friends. You know, other than Hayden.”
“I have Rose.”
Rose. This made this even more complicated for Ilya. He was less jealous of Rose these days. But if he had been so disturbed by Shane’s relationship with her, why was he trying to instigate a relationship with you?
“Two friends. Congratulations, Hollander.”
Shane scoffs. “If we’re talking about how many friends everyone has, you’re not much better.”
“I have friends. At least one more friend than you.” Svetlana. Marlow. Price.
“What’s your plan?”
“Art show. It is in New York, next month. I already checked your schedule, it lines up perfectly.”
“And your schedule?”
“Of being a, what do they call me online? A WAG? Is great, I cleared my very busy schedule.”
Shane laughs, shaking his head. “Are we really doing this?”
“It’s not the craziest thing we’ve ever done.”
That much is true, what with them spending a decade making their way to each other. The foundation. Coming out, getting married. Reconnecting with you wouldn’t be the craziest thing Shane’s ever done, especially not with Ilya.
So why did it feel like this was going to change everything?
let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!
pairing: married!hollanov x gn!reader (nickname: freddie), past young!shane hollander x young!gn!reader
contents: NSFW/18+/MINORS DNI, angst/fluff, insecurity, jealously, mental health issues of all kinds, illusion to past eating disorders, slow burn, friends to lovers, idiots in love, eventual throuple, eventual smut (m/m, m/gn, m/gn/m), more tags to come
wc: 3,451
an: this one was hard to trim down. i wanted to add their every waking moment and thought but, they're living in a bit of fantasy land on the edge of realizing what they all have together. enjoy before the angst ensues!
the third constant masterlist
LATE MAY 2024
You try really hard to make it casual conversation when you bring it up to Sabah and Maeve. Because it is casual isn’t? Your best friend and his husband who is now your friend, invited you to spend their favorite place. You live with Sabah and Maeve though you’re separated by a wall.
But being the third wheel isn’t a new concept to you, in fact you’ve always thrived there despite wanting to be chosen. To have your own wheel to turn with.
The three of you are on the back deck, and Maeve is at the grill, Sabah is chopping up peaches for a cobbler she’s assembling.
You’re setting the table, your eyes down as you arrange the plates and glasses. “I wanted to tell you a couple months out so we can make sure the scheduler’s clear.
“Mhmm,” they hum in unison.
“I’m going to Ottawa for a couple days in the summer.”
The knife clatters out of Sabah’s hand and she looks up. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Dear, let them finish. Go on Freddie.”
“They invited me to come stay. It’s just a couple days, they said they have space for me to work if i want to.”
“A lot of they language being thrown around here,” Sabah observed.
“It was a joint offer.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Fine. Ilya and I talk— not as much as Shane and I do. But it’s meaningful. He helped me name a piece.”
“I knew that Russian word didn’t come out of thin air. Freddie, what are you doing? What do you want from this?”
“I’m going to hang out with my friends in a place that was once my home. It’s that simple.”
“And all those feelings for Shane?”
“Are on the back burner. Like they have been for 20 years now.”
“Whatever. You’re in denial.”
“I am not.”
Maeve turns to look over her shoulder. “Ok, hold on my loves. Maybe there’s another question to be asked. Is there anything felt with Ilya? Or is it still just Shane.”
“Ilya and I have chemistry, that’s impossible to deny. But our friendship blossomed because we both love Shane. And I think he’s okay with that.”
“Mmm.”
“I’m making up for lost time. That is why I said yes, to spend time with Shane and to get to know his husband better. If I start having trouble with that you’ll be the first to know, Sabah.”
“And here I thought it would be me since I’m the one being nice to you. Chopped liver over here,” Maeve teases.
“You’ll know by proxy.”
Sabah purses her lips. “I just…I want you to be careful, Freddie. We love you. I love you so much, you’re my family. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know, but I need you to trust me. One thing that I’m sure of is that Shane and Ilya would never hurt me. If anything, I’ll end up hurting myself.”
“Let’s try to avoid that, yeah? International flights are robbery these days, and I don’t want to go to jail for assault.”
“I’ll be careful.”
—
JULY 2024 - COTTAGE DAY 1
You feel like you’re vibrating. Every fiber of your being feels as if it’s buzzing with anticipation, fear and excitement all at once.
They’re picking you up, which leaves you standing outside in the summer breeze. You’re in a match set of cutoff sweatpants, the matching jacket tied around your waist. Since you woke up to head to the airport this morning you’ve been chewing gum, so much so that you’ve bitten your tongue more times than you can count.
Every black Range Rover that appears makes your heart go through the roof, until you realize they’re not in it.
That is until they are. Shane is driving, and he pulls right up to you, the smiles on his and Ilya’s faces sweet and contagious. Their obvious happiness that you’re here has your nervousness melting away.
“Freddie,” Shane murmurs once out of the car, because that’s all he can think of to say. He embraces you immediately and you hug him tightly, hoping his presence will ground you a bit.
Ilya is next, wrapping his arms around you. “How do you manage to look cozy in summer?”
“It’s my superpower I guess.”
The drive is peaceful and that’s putting it lightly. There is no place for your nerves when there is so much warmth around. The windows are down letting in the fresh air and the sound of wind in the trees.
Shane is driving, his right hand across the dash to tangle with Ilya’s. You don’t know if you’ve seen him this relaxed before, not even as a child. You can’t even be upset about what that means about your time together. What you want it to mean.
—
You thought you were in the clear but as soon as you’re on the threshold of the cottage, a knot twists in your stomach.
“It’s beautiful,” you say softly, watching as Shane unlocks the door to let Ilya through with your bag.
Ilya smiles at you from over his shoulder. “Mr. Real Estate here does have good taste.”
“I don’t know if you know but I had it built.”
“I could’ve guess, it’s all too perfect.”
“Hey I don’t give tours to the disorderly.”
“Mmm, is lie. Freddie, I will take your suitcase to your room but where do you want your art supplies? Living room? Library?”
Ilya’s question has you floating back to when he and Shane asked you to come here. When he claimed that you wouldn’t be a guest, but had space here. With them.
“Does the library have a view?”
“Shane says every room has wonderful view.”
“Because it does.”
“Yes, yes, sweetheart I know. Library has better view in my opinion.”
You playfully roll your eyes in Shane’s direction before smiling at Ilya. “Library it is then.”
Ilya grins, winking before he heads down up a flight of stairs and disappears, leaving you and Shane together.
“I planned to make us all lunch, if you’re hungry?”
“Starving actually.”
“You didn’t eat breakfast?”
“Shaney, I packed an hour before I had to be at the airport.”
“Of course you did. Why don’t you let yourself explore. We’ll come get you when it’s ready.”
There’s the need that rises up in you that makes you feel like you should help. You think about what your mom would say, that you have to earn it. You do feel like you have to earn it, especially here, with Shane and Ilya.
You’re about to open your mouth to ask if he’s sure he doesn’t need help, but then he starts to whistle a tune and turns away to open the fridge.
The water outside is a deep blue, its richness calling out to you. You’re careful as you make your way down the stone path to the dock, shedding your socks and shoes before sitting crisscross at its end.
You get lost in the waves, let yourself dip your toes in the refreshing water as you take in the scenery. This is what you missed most after leaving Ottawa, only second to Shane.
“Is beautiful, yes?”
“Very.”
“The water is nice. Cool but not too cold. We can swim together later if you want.”
“Yeah, I want.”
Ilya’s mouth twitches but he doesn’t comment on your words. Instead he holds out his hand for you, and says, “Ready?”
“Sure.”
Sliding your hand into his is easy. So is the way he pulls you up.
—
JULY 2024 - COTTAGE DAY 2
You wake earlier than you mean to. Than you want to.
But the light coming through the window is too pretty to ignore. Golden and soft, catching on the dust in the air. For a second, you forget where you are, blinking up at the ceiling. Then it all rushes back in. The water, the quiet, the fact that you’re here with Shane and Ilya.
You slide out of the pillowy soft bed and get ready in the bathroom across the hall, pulling on a sweatshirt and shorts before padding to the kitchen.
Shane is already in the kitchen. His glasses are on, hair still sleep-tousled as he stands in front of the stove like he’s negotiating with it.
“You’re up early,” he says without turning. He knows Ilya, knows he wouldn’t dare be up at this hour with his troubles getting to sleep.
“So are you.”
“I wake up like I’m late for something,” he admits. “Old habit that’s hard to break even though that’s what this place is for.”
You lean against the counter, watching him crack eggs with careful precision. “Need help?”
Shane almost says no. He wants you to let him take care of you. But he also can imagine the dialogue going through your head. So he says, “Yeah. You want to cut the fruit?”
“Always.”
He slides the cutting board toward you like this has always been the arrangement and you get to work, arranging the fruit on a plate as you cut up each piece.
The two of you are living in the sounds of the knife, the crackle of oil, the coffee maker thrumming to life when something occurs to you.
“This feels weirdly normal,” you say, keeping your eyes focused on the task at hand.
It does feel normal, Shane thinks. Like this something he could’ve done with you his entire life. Except he wouldn’t have met Ilya, and Ilya is everything to him.
Shane turns around, leaning against the counter to look at you. He likes the way you’re bathed in the morning sunlight. “Good weird or bad weird?”
“Good,” you reply. “Unfamiliar.”
He nods like he understands exactly what you mean.
“Ilya’s like this too,” he says. “He settles into places fast. I used to think it meant he didn’t care as much.”
You aren’t surprised that you and Ilya have things like this in common. But you are surprised that Shane is verbalizing it.
“And now?”
“And now I know it’s because he feels safe,” Shane says simply.
You swallow. “That must be nice.”
“It is,” he says. “You don’t seem uncomfortable though,” he adds quickly, brow furrowed.
“I’m not. I’m just really trying not to mess it up.”
Shane steps forward, leaning across the counter so that he’s closer to you. His gaze is steady, serious. “You don’t have to perform here,” he says. “You never did with me.”
You laugh quietly, trying to bat away the flutters in your stomach. “I did though.”
“Maybe a little,” he concedes. “But you never pretended to be someone else.”
That lands harder than you expect, and it grows impossible to find words. To speak. You nod, giving him a soft smile.
You finish slicing the fruit, and Shane admires the placement of each place. You create beauty so effortless because it pours out of you. He sets some eggs and toast on a plate, nudges it closer to you
“Eat,” he says. “Before Ilya wakes up and steals half of it.”
“You always were territorial about breakfast.”
“Only with people I like.”
The words are casual and unloaded, which is exactly why your chest tightens.
—
When finally in it, the lake holds you differently than expected. For some reason, you find yourself fighting its embrace, struggling to relax. You kick once, twice, and then Ilya is there, close enough that you can hear his breath.
“Relax your shoulders,” he says. “You are fighting it.”
You can’t seem him clearly as you float on your back, gazing up at the blinding sun. But you try to fight him too. “I don’t—”
He reaches out, not grabbing, just placing his palm flat against your upper back. Steady. Warm. “Trust me, Freddie.”
I do, you want to say. Or I try to.
Your body loosens in slow increments and Ilya’s hand stays on your back the entire time. He watches the process with curiosity and care, seeing the tension drain from your neck and shoulders. Feeling it leave your spine as you melt into his hand. He likes the feeling of holding you up, of being here.
“There,” he murmurs. “It will not drop you.”
I will not drop you, he wants to say.
You float with ease, you toes just beneath the water’s surface. And as you let the water and Ilya hold you, the sky starts to blur. The only sound you can hear is the soft splash of water on rocks and Ilya’s steady breath. Those things feel like all you need right now.
“This is why,” Ilya says quietly.
“Why what?” you breathe.
“Why I come here.” He skates his hand across your back gently now that you dont need any help. He’s not ready to let you go yet. “When my head is loud, I need something bigger to carry me.”
You swallow.
“Its not about forgetting, yes? “It is about being held without needing to explain myself.”
You let the water rock you. Let him.
“I don’t let many people see me like this,” he adds, softer.
“Floating?”
“Needing.”
You turn your head toward him, finally looking at him. His eyes are dark but gentle. Needy. Your heart thuds in your chest.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
He nods once. “Anytime.”
He means it.
–
Things eventually lighten, and you Ilya spend most oft the day in the water. Shane comes out and lays on the dock with a book, leaving intermittently when his phone rings. The sun is start to go down when he finally comes out with towels.
“Alright you two, you need to eat.”
“Put we are playing mermaids.”
“How do you– playing mermaids?”
“You expect me to be in water and not teach your husband about playing mermaids.”
“Out. Both of you.”
Ilya gets out first, helping you up. The air is cooler as the sun continues to dip behind the trees.
“You’re gonna freeze to death,” he scolds.
“I am fine,” you say, teeth chattering.
“Objectively false,” Ilya says, taking a towel from Shane, wrapping a towel around your shoulders and tucking it in without ceremony.
Shane pauses so briefly that neither you or Ilya notice. This is normal, he tells himself. Because here at the cottage, it is. ITs become the place where impossible things happen every single day.
You all make dinner together tonight– roasted veggies and chicken and french bread. The conversation between the three of you is easy, and when it stops and starts again, it all just feels natural.
Just.
–
JULY 2024 - COTTAGE DAY 3
You’re already working when Ilya finds you. There’s a canvas in front of you propped against the window, your paints laid out on the table beside with care. He observes you, noticing that you’re doing more staring than you are painting.
Your face is twisted into some mixture of feelings. Some he can identify; confusion, uncertainty, frustration. Others evade him.
“What are you thinking?” he asks eventually.
“Fuck,” You jump, not realizing that you’d been being watched.
He gives you an apologetic smile, come to stand so he can look over your shoulder. “I am sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt but also want to help.”
“No its okay. I don’t know yet,” you admit. “It’s just shapes right now.”
“Shapes matter,” he says. “They decide what comes next.”
You glance up at him; he stands with his hands in his pockets, thoughtful. Careful. How you hope to see someone looking at the things you create.
“It feels like I’m trying to catch a feeling before it realizes what I’m doing,” you say. Even as you say, you know that Sabah would lock you in a room for hours to unpack such a statement.
Ilya nods slowly. “That is how I feel when I cook without recipe.”
You laugh softly.
He leans in closer, his chest brushing your shoulder. He points, careful not to touch. “This line. What if it wants to go further?”
You tilt your head trying to see his perspective. “You think?”
“Maybe. We see without expectations? We can always change.”
That sentiment feels like its needs to be tattooed on you so you don’t forget. You can always change. Its possible to pivot. It can be messy, it doesn’t have to be perfect.
In this moment Ilya gives you the courage to believe that. You adjust the line, and the dam inside you breaks. Your brain knows where to go next.
“You’re sure you weren’t an artist in another life?”
“I am artist here. Do you see this?” He smirks, pointing at his body.
The laugh you let out is less reserved than the last. You feel it in your belly, and Ilya loves the way your eyes crinkle in the corners, can’t help but join in.
“You’re very good at seeing,” you tell him once you’ve steadied yourself.
“So are you,” he replies. “You just doubt it more. Can I stay? I will read.”
“Stay.”
–
Your head felt full of cotton after that exchange with Ilya and its guidance. You had enjoyed yourself, and it felt nice to have company with having to entertain. But it all felt very heady, like territory you couldn’t imagine being ready to handle.
That’s how you find yourself curled up in one of the couch outside near the firepit. The fresh air helps and you brought your sketchbook to keep your hands and thoughts occupied. You hear the steps first, and by the rhythm know that its Shane joining you. You find only some relief in that.
Without looking up, you ask, “Will you read to me?”
Instead of replying, Shane obliges. He reads for a while before you realize you have no idea what he’s reading about. Hockey you could guess but you haven’t been listening to the words, simply the soothing cadence of his voice.
Shane peeks at you when your pencil stops, and smiles softly. “You always did this,” he says without looking up.
“Did what?”
He raises a brow at you playfully. “Didn’t listen.”
You laugh, extending your leg to kick softly at his knee. “I am listening. I wouldn’t say that I’m comprehending. But your voice is nice.”
He hums, pausing before he lowers the book and meets your gaze. His hand wraps gently around your ankle, caressing a curve there. “I missed you. So much,” he says—not softly, not loudly. Just true.
Your breath nearly stops, mouth dry. The words scrape out of your throat, you have to force them out despite them being no less true. “I missed you, too.”
Shane squeezes your ankle once and then goes back to reading like that was enough. Because he knows it has to be enough.
–
You have long gone to bed and its just Shane and Ilya now.
The kettle clicks off. Shane pours the water, steam curling up into the dim kitchen light, and hands a mug to Ilya before taking one for himself. There’s no conversation yet, just the quiet choreography of something they’ve done every summer.
Making tea in the softness of the cottage.Together. It never grows old.
They head to their bedroom, hand in hand the familiar creak of the floorboards underfoot. The window is open a few inches, lake air cooling the room.
Shane sits on the edge of the bed, setting his mug on the side table to cool. Ilya settles beside him, back against the headboard, one knee drawn up.
“How was your day?” Shane asks, easy.
“Good,” Ilya says. “I found Freddie in the library. Painting. Well, staring at painting. They were stuck.”
Shane smiles. “Were?”
“Yes. I helped them, I think. They were very afraid to mess up,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around Shane when he comes to lean against him.
“Who isn’t?”
“Yes, true. But they are so good. I did not know they get afraid. They seemed better before I left.”
Shane nods, pleased. “I read to them this afternoon while they were sketching.”
“You do have very soothing voice. Easy to fall asleep to,” Ilya says, yawning playfully.
“Fuck you.”
“After we are done talking about our days,” Ilya teases, dropping a kiss on Shane’s forehead.
A quiet moment falls between them, and they sip their tea together now that its a bit cooler.
“It feels as nice as I thought it would,” Shane says eventually. “Having them here.”
Ilya nods. “It does.”
Neither of them are surprised it feels this way, and right now there doesn’t feel like there’s anything to do but enjoy it.
“They fit,” Ilya adds, after a beat.
Shane’s mouth finds the crook of Ilya’s neck, laying a kiss there, his way of agreeing.
pairing: married!hollanov x gn!reader (nickname: freddie), past young!shane hollander x young!gn!reader
contents: NSFW/18+/MINORS DNI, angst/fluff, insecurity, jealously, mental health issues of all kinds, illusion to past eating disorders, slow burn, friends to lovers, idiots in love, eventual throuple, eventual smut (m/m, m/gn, m/gn/m), more tags to come
wc: 4,007
an: OKAY WE BACKKKK! sorry this took so long my saturn is definitely still fucking returning and i can't wait to get out of my 20s holy shit. hope yall enjoy this smidge of angst! <3
the third constant masterlist
COTTAGE DAY 4
Your last full day at the cottage is the sweetest and the quietest.
Rain threatens to pour from puffy white clouds but never does, leaving the lake glassy and still outside the wide windows. The three of you decide not to fight it. Blankets get dragged from the hallway closet and the couch becomes the hub of the day.
“The trilogy,” Shane insists, already pulling it up.
“Commitment,” Ilya mutters. “We will be eighty by end.”
“You say that every time,” Shane replies without looking at him.
You’re only half listening, already smiling.
Ilya disappears halfway through the first film and comes back with contraband—two bags of Doritos, something chocolate, and a sleeve of Oreos that definitely weren’t there yesterday.
Shane looks betrayed. “I told you not to bring that.”
“A dorito isn’t gonna kill you, Shaney.”
“It might.”
Ilya rolls his eyes. “You are dramatic.”
“And you eat like a garbage can,” Shane grumbles.
“Chicken breast ends up in garbage cans too,” you tease, plopping down in the center of the couch without thought.
They both look at you at the same time.
There’s no ceremony to it, no discussion. They simply settle in on either side of you. Shane’s thigh warm against yours, Ilya’s shoulder brushing your arm. You’re boxed in without anyone meaning to box you in.
That’s when you notice it— just for a second. The way there’s nowhere to lean that isn’t one of them. But you eventually stop noticing, because it’s so incredibly easy.
Your leg stretches out across Shane’s lap at some point, absentminded. He adjusts automatically, hand resting near your ankle like it belongs there. Ilya hands you a chip without looking away from the screen. Later, when the second movie starts, your head tips to his shoulder. He doesn’t shift. Just angles himself slightly so you fit better.
They argue about Bruce Wayne like it’s personal.
“He is brooding for sport. It makes him cooler,” Ilya insists.
“He’s traumatized,” Shane counters.
“You’re both projecting.”
There are moments you laugh so hard at that your stomach aches. Ilya’s hand comes up reflexively to steady you when you tip forward. Shane’s fingers curl loosely around your calf like he forgot they weren’t already there.
The three of you just get to be.
No one is performing. No one is proving anything. The jokes come easy, low and constant. Shane’s glasses slide down his nose and you push them back up without thinking. Ilya steals the remote and refuses to give it back during the credits. At some point all three of you are half under the same blanket, feet tangled in a way that would be annoying if it were anyone else.
Ilya has understood from the moment he met you what you are to Shane.
He saw it in the way Shane’s voice shifted around you—subtle, but there. Softer at the edges, brighter in the middle.
What he didn’t expect was what you would become to him.
You are light. Steady, warm light. The kind that fills a room without demanding it.
By the time the third movie ends, it’s dark outside. The windows reflect the three of you back at yourselves—close, layered together, something that looks almost intentional.
“Dinner?” Shane asks.
“Dinner,” you and Ilya say in unison.
The three of you have made it back to the couch post dinner, you and Ilya with glasses of wine in your hands.
“You’re probably the only person that could get him to drink that,” Shane nods his head towards Ilya’s hand.
You grin, raising your glass dramatically. “Well I do have impeccable taste.”
“And I do not say no to Freddie, the one with good taste. You should try?” Ilya extends his glass.
“You have plenty of time for it to leave your system before you even thinking about the first game,” you reason.
Shane shakes his head. “I’m already thinking about the first game.”
“Second game then,” you counter.
“One sip, and then we have something to show you. Right Ilya?”
Ilya stiffens beside you. “Yes.”
You try to ignore the sudden heaviness in the air. “Is it a dead body? Ilya, did you finally kill Hayden?”
“Hush,” Shane scolds.
Shane does take a sip, his nose wrinkling as he realizes that maybe he does like red wine. Maybe it’s just because you picked it. Because he’s sitting on his couch in his favorite place in the world, with his two favorite people in the world.
“Well?” Ilya asks, brows raised.
“We have more important things to worry about than me liking wine. It’s fine. Good. Come on,” Shane holds out both his hands, which you and Ilya take at the same time.
“Eyes covered, please,” Ilya murmurs.
Shane’s hands come to cover your eyes just as Ilya takes both of your hands, guiding you forward. You trust them both easily, leaning into their touch.
“It took us a long time to decide what to do with it, where to place it,” Ilya says and you could swear you hear some shyness in his tone.
“But, we realized there is no better place than here. By we, I mean Ilya.”
“Yes, give me my credit.”
“Place what where?” You ask once Ilya stops guiding you forward. Instead his hands rise to your shoulder, twisting you this and that way as if it to position you for something.
“It’s best if we show you,” Shane whispers into your ear, his breath warm against your skin.
When his hands drop from your eyes, you snap them open, your gaze wandering around— their bedroom? What could they possibly show you here? Your eyes search, and then they land on the not so hidden treasure. It’s right above their bed in all its saccarhine quiet. The painting they bought from you from the first night.
The painting that holds so much meaning, that is the epitome of you and Shane, of the time you two spent together in this town.
This gesture stuns you into silence. While no true feelings have been declared, the act feels very clear. It says, you belong here. You have space here with us. You’re part of our home.
Shane shifts from foot to foot, nerves growing with every moment that passes. “You don’t like where we placed it?”
Ilya steadies him, rubbing at his back. “Shane, I don’t think that is… they are emotional.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Freddie. We wanted you to know you’re important to us.”
“You are part of our family.”
The word makes your chest tighten, but not in a bad way. More in a way that feels like too much to hold despite it being exactly what your heart has craved for so long.
You look at the painting again. At the brushstrokes you remember laying down on that first night. At the colors that feel like a younger version of you. It looks different here. It’s settled, like it belongs here in the quiet of their cottage.
“You put it here,” you say softly.
Shane nods, suddenly unsure of himself. “Yeah.”
Ilya’s hands instinctively reaches for you both— one hand tangling with Shane’s, the other resting on your arm with a sweet squeeze.
“It means a lot,” you say, voice thin. “To be here. In your space like this.”
Neither of them interrupt, quiet and listening with intention.
“To feel…chosen,” you add, almost embarrassed by the word.
Shane shifts closer immediately, like the word itself is pulling him. “You are,” he says, insistent like a promise.
Ilya hums in agreement and squeezes your arm again.
You laugh once under your breath, feeling completely overwhelmed. “I just didn’t expect it.”
“We wanted to see it every day,” Shane says. “That’s all.”
You nod. That makes sense. It feels manageable, and not like everything unspoken between the three of you is going to break through the dam.
But the emotion creeps up anyway. You try to blink back your tears, but it’s no use.
Shane opens his arms without a thought and you step into him, easily folded into his arms like the two of you are thirteen again. He is solid, warm. Steady.
Ilya comes in behind you a second later, wrapping you both up. His chin brushes the top of your head. One of his hands rests flat over Shane’s back, the other at your ribs.
There are no words spoken, no pressure placed on any of you. In this moment you let yourself melt into the care. Shane feels the warmest he ever has, wrapped around you while being wrapped in Ilya. And Ilya…well he thought that getting Shane was what all his dreams were made of. Maybe, just maybe you all have one more dream.
The three of you breathing in the same space, dreaming the same dream.
You let yourself lean for a minute longer than you normally would.
“Okay,” you murmur finally, swiping at your face. “Okay, I’m okay. I’m alright.”
Shane presses a quick kiss into your hair like it’s nothing. Ilya squeezes once more before letting go.
The painting stays where it is. It rests where it belongs.
—
The airport goodbye is smaller than the gesture in their bedroom. There is no grand speech or gesture. You need room to breathe— Shane and Ilya can see that.
Ilya hugs you first, firm and quick. “Text when you land.”
Shane pulls you in after, slower, one hand cradling the back of your neck. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod, holding him tightly.
He leans away to search your face, his gaze steady like he’s memorizing every single detail of you.
“I’m fine,” you insist, squeezing Shane. You glance at Ilya. “I’m good. Thank you both for having me.”
Ilya gives you a look but doesn’t argue. “Call us if you’re not,” he says instead.
“I will,” you say.
“Call us anyway,” Shane calls after you once you start towards security.
You simply wave, giving a heads up. You don’t trust yourself to turn to look at them. So you don’t.
—
The plane feels wrong immediately. It’s too narrow. The people around you are too loud and the lights are too bright.
You try to ignore the pressure building inside you and buckle your seatbelt and stare straight ahead.
Your phone buzzes before you can put it in airplane mode. It’s them.
Shane: Already feels weird without you here.
Ilya: Safe flight. Get some rest.
Your stomach drops as the events from last night echo in your mind.
Family. Ours. Your painting above their bed.
Your hands start to shake and you press them between your knees.
What if you can’t be what they think you are? What if you disappoint them? What if you ruin the balance? What if you’re reading too much into this? What if you misunderstood? What if—
The cabin doors shut, and your chest tightens with them.
It was so easy there with them, warm and genuine. Certain.
But as the plane climbs into the air you feel alone. Like you stepped into something bigger than you understood.
Your breathing goes shallow.
You try to ground yourself by focusing on the things around you. The baby blue of the seat in front of you, the hum of the plane’s engine, the condensation on your refreshment cup.
You should text them back when you land, but you know that you can’t. That you won’t. Because with every minute that pass, your heart is moving in the opposite direction.
There is comfort in the distance, sadness in it too. It’s safer though, than letting yourself get some close. Than them seeing you.
The second the wheels left the ground, so did you.
—
AUGUST 2024
About a month after you’ve left the phone starts living closer to Shane.
It’s not something he lets himself think about but it is noticeable, to Ilya at least.
It just ends up on his nightstand instead of across the room. Screen facing up instead of down, the volume up instead of on vibrate.
At 12:17 a.m., it lights the ceiling blue. Shane’s hand moves before he’s fully awake. He sits up on his elbow, squinting at the screen.
It’s just an email, something about team logistics and bonding.
He lets his head fall back into the pillow, sighing in frustration.
Beside him, Ilya shifts. “What? What is wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Shane turns the phone over but keeps it within reach. His fingers rest on the edge of it for a second longer than necessary before he pulls his hand back.
You used to text late. Are you still up? A thought just hit me. A blurry picture of a canvas at midnight.
Now? There is hardly anything. Shane stares up at the ceiling.
Above them, your painting hangs steady in the dark.
MID SEPT 2024
Preseason media day is notoriously loud— it has changed over the years now that Shane and Ilya are married. Even more so now that Ilya’s retired.
Shane answers questions easily. He smiles at the right moments, laughs when expected. This stuff is like breathing. It’s the only way his mind is allowed to be somewhere else. If he isn’t thinking of Ilya, he’s thinking of you. Wonder what’s left in the growing space between you.
Halfway through a sentence, his eyes flick sideways to the table where his phone sits facedown. Once he’s in the car with Ilya he unlocks it before the engine even turns over.
There are no notifications. He opens your message thread anyway— the last message from you is three days old. It’s not at all like you, not warm or cozy or even remotely showing that you’re interested.
Hope practice went well.
It’s not weird for him to initiate contact. The two of you are friends, good friends— best friends.
He types a few different things, a sigh coming as he formulates and deletes and repeats.
How’s the new piece coming?
Delete.
You alive over there?
Delete.
Shane sets the phone in the cupholder and stares out the passenger window. He can feel Ilya’s eyes on him. There’s a weight in the air.
“You could just call,” Ilya says mildly, watching Shane’s jaw set.
“They’re busy,” Shane replies.
“If you say so.”
—
MID SEPTEMBER 2024
Ilya tells himself he doesn’t care about response times because he’s not sixteen. You’re not his partner, you are his friend. His family, if what he and Shane said is still true. He feels like it is. With found family though, he feels there is no obligation here, even if it had started to feel like…something.
And yet, he grows frustrated like Shane as time passes.
He sends you a clip from Shane’s practice— a sharp pass he knows you’d dissect frame by frame.
The two of you had started doing that together, breaking down plays like you were studying them.
It had been easy and fun, kept him connected to hockey in a way where he still got to be the expert.
He sends it to you midafternoon. Evening comes, dinner comes, and nightly tea is being made when finally at 9:42 p.m., your reply comes through.
Freddie: nice.
He stares at the word. A word that he has said multiple times when he didn’t understand something or when he just wasn’t interested. There is none of your usual commentary or teasing.
Nice.
He can’t tell who he’s more angry at in this moment. You for pulling away or himself for thinking things could be different.
Ilya: Only nice?
Freddie: sorry, i’m beat. long day with possible sponsors.
Ilya: Get some rest.
He locks the phone and sets it face down on the counter, he knows that you won’t reply.
It’s not until later that he lets himself look at your message thread again. It’s the middle of the night and he’s in the living room unable to sleep. It’s not unusual for him to let Shane sleep— he doesn’t want his phone to disturb him.
Ilya scrolls up to May. There are voice memos and paragraphs. Photos of paint on your hands. You laughing at something stupid he said.
He presses play on one of the voice memos without meaning to and your voice fills the room for half a second.He stops it immediately and the silence after? It feels heavier than it should. Like it’s sitting on his chest.
When Ilya slides back into bed beside Shane, it wakes him.
“You good?” Shane asks sleepily, rubbing at his eyes.
Ilya nods, bending to kiss Shane on his forehead. “Of course, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”
He doesn’t mention that he thought something had been building between the two of you too. Not dramatic or defined, just steadily growing.
He doesn’t mention that he misses it.
OCTOBER 2024
October makes everything sharper, as the space between you, Shane and Ilya grows like a thorn.
The air changes is cooler, the aches in Shane’s body and Ilya’s heart feeling deeper.
Shane is usually steady before a season. He thrives in ritual, is particular about his schedule. Ilya had hopes that as the season grew nearer that Shane would get better. It only gets worse, and while Ilya usually feels comfortable calling things out, this feels different.
It was all his fault, wasn’t it? He had convinced Shane to reconnect with you. Had fallen into rhythm with your friendship and created a rhythm of his own between you.
So all Ilya can do for now is observe. It hurts to see the man he loves acting out of character. Acting broken.
Shane leaves the cabinet doors open after making a smoothie. He forgets to respond to many of Hayden’s texts. Leaves some of his gear at home. Watches a game tape straight through without a single rewind and no notes.
Ilya knows that’s not the man he married. But he can’t say it. Not without admitting that he was hurt too.
One night, Shane stands under the painting again.
He doesn’t turn the lights fully on, letting the colors bathe in the soft light. They look more delicate like this. Ilya watches Shane quietly.
“You think we made it weird?” Shane asks, eyes still on the canvas.
“With what,” Ilya says from the bed, already knowing.
Shane rolls his eyes before pointing at the wall.
“We didn’t make anything. We didn’t do anything wrong,” Ilya answers as evenly as he can manage.
Shane nods, but his shoulders stay tight. “It felt fine then,” he says.
“It was,” Ilya assures.
“I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll be back soon,” Shane murmurs. He leaves Ilya with a soft peck on the cheek and heads to the bathroom.
Ilya listens closely as the water turns on and soon there’s steam creeping from underneath the bathroom door. He stays still for a couple more minutes before he picks up his phone and starts out of the bedroom, his eyes glazing over the painting before he turns down the hall.
Before he can regret it…he calls you.
—
The phone rings long enough that Ilya almost hangs up. But you finally answer on the fifth ring.
“Hi,” you murmur and he could swear that your voice is almost shy. At least unsure, maybe a little scared.
“Hi,” he says, realizing that his voice mirrors your own. He didn’t prepare for this call, he just knew he had to make it.
There’s a small rustle on your end, like you’re shifting somewhere quieter.
“Is everything okay?” you ask.
“Yes,” he answers initially because that is mostly true. “But no,” he adds, exhaling through his nose as he leans against the kitchen counter.
“Is Shane okay?”
“He is…not himself,” he says carefully. “He forgets things. Small things. He leaves cabinets open o-or he doesn’t rewind tape. And his damn phone, I’ve never seen him hate his phone before.”
You swallow loudly the other end, the guilt that you’d been trying to outrun finding root in your belly. “I didn’t mean to—“
“I know. This is not— I do not want you to feel that I am angry with you. But you are not here and Shane cannot ignore that. I cannot either.”
After a moment, you ask quietly, “Is he really that bad?”
“He would say no.”
“And you?”
Ilya considers lying to spare your feelings. He would only do that for Shane before…you have grown to be the exception. “He is quiet. Distracted. Sad.”
You let out a breath that feel like you’ve been holding it for weeks. “I thought giving space would make it easier,” you admit.
“For who?” Ilya asks.
“For everyone.”
He hums faintly. “It has not.”
“And you?” you ask, more carefully this time. “Are you okay?”
He looks down at the floor tile between his feet. “I thought I was,” he says.
That surprises you into silence and for some reason Ilya is feeling brave enough to fill it. Maybe because like with Shane, he knows whatever this is is real.
“I did not expect it to feel like this,” he continues. “I knew he would miss you. I did not expect to not miss you but this...”
“I miss you,” you say.
“I know, I do not doubt that,” he says. “I miss our conversations.”
That makes you huff softly. “The hockey lectures?”
“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. “You were finally getting better.”
A small crack of something like a laugh escapes you. Ilya smiles, feeling like he’s brushed the edge of normalcy with you.
“How has creating been? Are you doing something new?”
“I…no? Sort of but nothing I really feel connected to. I haven’t finished it, the painting I started while I was there. I haven’t touched it if I’m being honest.
Ilya slides down the counter, sitting crisscrossed on the tile floor. “Tell me.”
“It was inspired by my time there and I— I didn’t know what that time was turning into,” you whisper. “It started as something light. And then it didn’t feel light anymore.”
“It is okay for things to not be light as long as they are honest,” he suggests, but he knows the feeling. He remembers hiding from his feelings for Shane despite it all feeling like a distant memory.
“I was scared if I finished it, it would make everything real.”
“It is already real. This is not a dream, Freddie,” he answers quietly.
“I didn’t pull away because I don’t care. I pulled away because I didn’t know how to care without making it bigger.”
“I am not asking you to make it bigger. Neither is Shane. All I am asking is that you don’t disappear.”
You inhale shakily, and you can feel the tears threatening to fall. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Then call him,” Ilya says.
“What would I even say, Ilya?”
“The truth,” he replies. “That you were confused. That you got scared. That you miss him.”
“And you?” you ask again, softer now. “Do you want me to call for you too?”
His answer is not as quick this time, and your heart rate increased. Because while you and Shane may have history, your care for Ilya has grown into something just as important.
“Yes,” he says. “I do. I don’t like not knowing where I stand. I don’t like…” he trails off unable to find the right words.
That quiet vulnerability is the closest he’s come to naming it.
“I don’t like it either. And I never meant to make you feel like that, Ilya. I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I miss the three of us,” you say.
“So do we.”
He lets the we sit there, pulling you both in. Grounding you. Because even though Shane’s not here, you know that this is all true for him too. He misses you. He wants things to go back to how they were.
“Call him tomorrow,” Ilya insists. “Before practice.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats.
“Ilya?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll call you too. Soon.”
You can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Okay.”
about: everyone debriefs, origins are unleashed, and ilya asks for a favor. or the one where shane and ilya find pure joy on the ice again with you.
pairing: married!hollanov x gn!reader (nickname: freddie), past young!shane hollander x young!gn!reader
contents: NSFW/18+/MINORS DNI, angst/fluff, insecurity, jealously, mental health issues of all kinds, illusion to past eating disorders, slow burn, friends to lovers, idiots in love, eventual throuple, eventual smut (m/m, m/gn, m/gn/m), more tags to come
wc: 1,886
an: how are yall liking it so far? gimme thoughts, predictions, possible things you may wanna see as these 3 get closer to each other. id love to chat!!
the third constant masterlist
NOVEMBER 2023
Sabah was not exaggerating when she said first thing. Its around 8:45 when she knocks on your door, rousing you from slumber.
“I don’t even get to brush my teeth first?” you whine when she peeks her head through the door.
“No, you have to spill all your salacious secrets about Shane Hollander.”
Maeve’s head appears beneath Sabah’s. “They were kids, dear, how salacious could these secrets be?”
“Do you wanna know what I was doing at the age of 13?”
“No,” you and Maeve say in unison.
“Maeve already has bacon in the oven. Come on, its time to chat.”
“Give me 5.”
Sabah is about to protest, but Maeve drags her away, calling out a sorry as their footsteps depart. You move quickly, knowing that the countdown is start. Teeth brushed and wrapped in your robe, you make your way to their kitchen where there’s already coffee sat at your place at the table, just the way you like it.
Its a little easier to tell them about Shane with caffeine and homemade buttermilk biscuits. But there also isn’t much to tell– you and Shane met when you were 8 years old. At the age of 12 that’s when things changed between you, if you could even say that they had. Two kids who cared so deeply for each other. Puppy love you would call it. The two of you were inseparable until your family moved back to the states and enrolled you in art school.
“Puppy love. How do you feel knowing he’s married now?” Maeve asks gently.
You answer as honestly as you can. “Well from last night them seem very in sync and in love. So I’m happy for Shane. I’ve always wanted good things for him.”
“Are gonna ignore the tension between not just the two of you but three of you?”
“We have good banter. You me and Maeve have good banter, should we all kiss?”
“They’ve got you there, honey.”
“Yeah whatever.”
–
“So?” Ilya prompts, gazing over at Shane. They’re in the back of the car on the way to pick you up.
“So what?” Shane asks, frowning. Ilya does that often, picking up or starting a conversation with little to no context. Like Shane is just meant to know where he wants to start.
“How do you feel about seeing Freddie?”
They hadn’t talked about it much last night, not with how worked up the both of them seemed to be at the sight of some art. That’s what Shane had decided it was about. Going on a date with his husband in an accepting city to see some beautiful, inspiring art.
“Happy. It felt like no time had passed.”
“Oh, so you feel like you are still dating them.”
Shane elbows Ilya in the arm. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“It feels like you are still friends after all the time. I know I was just teasing.”
“I think the more important question is how did you feel about meeting Freddie?”
Ilya kisses his teeth. “They are hot and talented. And kind. I feel good, I think they will be good for you.”
“Seems like you two get along pretty well.”
“Maybe you have a type. Teasers,” Ilya runs a hand up Shane’s thigh which Shane slaps away.
“Do you plan to be friends with them too?”
“Is what you want?”
Shane thinks it is what he wants but not exactly. It’s hard to pinpoint, he’s feeling a little jumbled by the experience despite his happiness.
“I want you to get along.”
“Then yes.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes. I am curious about them. I can always use more kindness in my life.”
Shane smiles, reaching over to take Ilya’s hand. That much is true— Ilya deserves all the kindness in the world after everything he’s endured. And Shane knows that Freddie will give that to them, to both of them. It’s how they became friends so easily, how Shane decided they liked them as more.
Pure kindness and consideration.
Shane texts you when they arrive in the car. From the window he and Ilya see Sabah and Maeve sending you off. You’re bundled up in a puffer jacket that makes you look endearing.
“Come here, scoot over,” Ilya ushers Shane into the middle seat, wrapping his arm around him.
“Hi you two,” you murmur, as you slide into the seat beside Shane. You give him and hug, then reach over to squeeze Ilya’s hand without thinking much about it.
Their smiles leave you a little breathless; gorgeous men picking you up to take you to dinner. It’s been a while since anything like this has happened, platonic or not.
“Hi, it’s good to see you,” Shane says despite it being less than 24 hours. But it’s true. And before this it had been so so long. He tries to bat away the shame that rises up in him, focusing on how happy you look to see him. How charming you look.
“Yes, very good to see you. You look warm,” Ilya says over Shane’s shoulder.
—
It isn’t a long drive to the restaurant, and you tell them about your day, how you spent most of it bent over a computer to input all the sales, make invoices to send out and create labels. There would be more work tomorrow, like packaging and labeling which always took the longest.
The three of you settle into a quiet private booth in the back of a fancy steakhouse. It’s all velvet and leather and warm lighting, so cozy you could melt into the seats.
You start to peel yourself out of your coat. Shane can’t help but feel a little warm— you’d worn orange a lot when you were kids, and it seems like everything about whether it’s the same or different takes him back to that time. A time that he previously didn’t let himself touch, but now his thoughts are surrounded by it. By how much he misses and adores you.
Ilya on the other hand gets distracted by your movements, you're wrapped in a burnt orange sweater that plays well off of the rings adorned on your fingers. That is until he’s distracted by your answer to the waiter asking what you want to drink.
“Oh, um, ginger ale if you have it,” you say without even touching the drink menu.
Ilya’s mouth drops open as he gazes at you. “No. No, no, can’t be.”
“What?”
“I’ll also have a ginger ale,” Shane says ignoring his husband’s ruckus for as long as possible. His mouth twitches as he tries to look at the menu.
You look over at him with a sly smile. “You stole my drink, Shaney?”
“Your drink? Freddie is why you drink so much ginger ale, Hollander?”
“So much?”
“I cannot get him to drink anything else. He is like little ginger ale fiend.”
“Its not your drink. And I drink other things.,” Shane gripes, but the tips of his ears are turning pink.
“Water and smoothie do not count, sweetheart.”
“Beer!”
You grin, eyes flickering between them. “You two are fascinating to watch.”
“I could say the same about you,” Ilya practically purrs at you.
Shane’s stomach clenches in a way that makes his face warm. He quickly changes the subject, trying to avoid that building dynamic between the three of you for as long as possible tonight.
Conversation over dinner is easy. It all feels so effortless, learning a little more about Shane and Ilya’s time together on the same team. You tell them some about your time at the art institute with Sabah.
The last bites and sips of the evening approach quicker than any of you are ready for, though none of you are willing to admit it.
Ilya simply looks at you and asks, “So, what do you want to do tonight? Do you have bar or club you like to go to?
“It’s not too late, is it?” Shane hopes that you’ll say no.
“No not too late at all.” You assure Shane before fixing your gaze on Ilya, “I was thinking that since I have the two best hockey players ever, we could go for a spin. There’s a rink not far from here that’s indoors. Quiet. It’s decked out for Christmas already.”
“You want to skate?” they ask in unison.
You shrug. “I would be missing any opportunity to not see you both on the ice. It’ll be my own personal show.”
Ilya’s smile is playful. His eyes don’t leave yours even as he says, “Shane?”
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
—
Ilya is shocked at how easily you glide alongside him and Shane. You even pull out a spin or two though you can’t keep up with their pace when he and Shane start to race around the track. You break away, content in watching them horse around together. Its nice to see Shane getting what he’s always deserved. Part of you wonders if it would’ve been different if you hadn’t gone to art school, but you like Ilya so much already it feels wrong to go down that path of thought.
Ilya comes to check on you after a while. “I did not expect you to be so good,” He gestures towards the ice.
“You thought I was best friends with a hockey player and didn’t know how to skate?”
“More than best friends, yes?”
“Eventually it was, yeah. I mean, you don’t really get a choice in loving Shane, do you?”
Ilya hums thoughtfully. “No. No, you don’t.”
Ilya liked seeing his husband like this. Shane was out in the middle of the ice, twirling in a fashion closer to ice skating than hockey and he was laughing. He looked like air on the ice. He looked a way Ilya had never seen him before. You had given Shane that. You had given Ilya that too. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so happy on the ice; he loved playing with Shane but there was always that pressure to win. Always the remarks and the assumptions being made.
Here, they got to skate for fun. That hadn’t happened since they were both young teens.
Ilya wrinkles his nose, his eyes darting from your face to the floor. “Freddie, I know that we do not know each other very well.”
“Not now, but that will change I suppose,” you murmur, noticing his nervousness.
“Yes. But I wonder if I can ask for favor?”
“Absolutely,” you agree easily.
“I am visiting friend in Boston tomorrow. Could you check on Shane? Make sure he is not stuck in our hotel room being boring.”
“It’d be my pleasure,” you assure him, smiling warmly.
Ilya is barely able to swallow his laughter, but nods. He’s sure it would be your very pleasure to spend the day with Shane. It’s why he’s going away in the first place, and he’s eager to see what he’ll return to.
You hold your hand out for Ilya, mischief in your eyes. “Let’s not let him have all the fun, huh?”
Ilya doesn’t quite know what you mean by that but he takes your hand anyway, let’s you whisk him off towards Shane who’s still swirling around the ice with glee.
let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!
pairing: married!hollanov x gn!reader (nickname: freddie), past young!shane hollander x young!gn!reader
contents: NSFW/18+/MINORS DNI, angst/fluff, insecurity, jealously, mental health issues of all kinds, illusion to past eating disorders, slow burn, friends to lovers, idiots in love, eventual throuple, eventual smut (m/m, m/gn, m/gn/m), more tags to come
wc: 3,032
an: tbh i feel a little insecure about this one. shane and freddie's dynamic is one of the hardest to put down on paper because of how deep and unique it is. they've cared for each other for a long long time and are returning to something so they're a little rusty. their love is quiet and sweet and built in friendship. i hope yall don't find it boring!
the third constant masterlist
NOVEMBER 2023
Shane wakes up to the feeling of Ilya’s mouth on his neck, to soft and adoring kisses. He stretches lazily, resting back on Ilya. Shane can already feel Ilya’s erection at his back and wiggles his hips.
“You are so cute when you wake up,” he murmurs against Shane’s skin.
“Only when I wake up?”
“Hush,” Ilya teases, reaching forward to run a hand down Shane’s stomach. Shane arches up into the touch instantly and Ilya huffs a laugh. “Cute and needy, yes?”
“You know your effect, Ilya.”
“Mmm. I do. I want to see more of it.” Ilya’s hand dips into Shane’s boxers to take ahold of his cock.
He strokes gently, and Shane feels like he’s turned to liquid with Ilya surrounding him. Would this be a good time for Ilya to tell Shane he’s spending the day with his best friend that is also his ex? The thought has heat rising in Ilya’s cheeks. He wonders what they will do together, if at some point their hands will brush or their gazes will linger. He strokes Shane harder, spreading the precum coming from Shane’s tip with his thumb in a move that makes his husband whimper.
“You are going to be okay today?”
“Yeah. I’ll um, I’ll, fuck–”
“Be taken care of,” Ilya breathes.
“What?”
“Freddie is going to keep you company,” Ilya murmurs against his skin.
“What?” Shane repeats, trying to focus on Ilya’s touch and not on the sharper spike of arousal that came with hearing your name while he and Ilya are like this together.
“I asked them to make sure you will be alright. Didn’t want you alone all day being boring in hotel room.”
Shane’s breath is labored, “I can– I can– take care of myself.”
“Yeah? You will let me watch later? Right now, I want to suck your cock.”
“Ilya,” Shane whines.
“Mhmm, I know, sweetheart,” Ilya hums, fumbling to cover Shane’s body with his own.
He releases Shane’s cock and starts kissing down his body, taking care with Shane’s nipples. Shane throws his back, straining into Ilya’s mouth. And when Ilya licks the tip of Shane’s cock, they both let out filthy moans that seem to harmonize.
“Fuck, Ilya. Please.”
“I have only just started,” Ilya reasons, but he obligies, taking Shane down his throat.
It takes no time at all for him to take Shane apart, his hand cupping Shane’s balls as he sucks him off just right.
“Fuck, yeah— just— right, mmm—“ Shane can’t finish his words as his release builds and snaps, cumming down Ilya’s throat.
Ilya pulls off of Shane with a lewd pop, resting his head on his stomach as their gazes meet. “Very needy,” he says, grinning.
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe tonight.”
They cuddle for a few minutes, and then Ilya’s alarm goes off and he groans. There’s no more minutes to stretch out with each other. Even after this time it feels like they’re chasing after it, making up for the months and years spent denying themselves of each other.
Its not until Ilya is dressed, showered and about to walk out the door that he asks. “Be honest. You will really be okay? You are okay spending day with Freddie?”
“I’ll be fine Ilya. Tell Svetlana I say hi and that I hope she’ll make it to a game soon.”
“I will. I love you,” Ilya reminds Shane, pressing a sweet kiss to forehead then his cheek.
Shane’s face heats and he isn’t able to stop the smile spreading across his face. He doesn’t have to anymore anyway. “I love you, too.”
Shane feels a sharp pang of loneliness when he closes the door, now alone in their hotel room. He contemplates going back to sleep as it’s still dark outside at 5 a.m.
He texts you instead, trying to solidify plans for the day. An entire day with you. What would that even look like now?
Shane: Hi. Ilya says we’re spending the day together?
He sets down the phone, awaiting your reply. He doesn’t expect it any time soon, but that doesn’t help his nerves at all. It’s a game of picking the phone back up and reading the text he’s sent followed by him telling himself to calm down. He does this for 45 minutes, but then you reply.
Freddie: you and me Shaney! come over, i’ll make us breakfast.
Shane: Do you mean right now?
Freddie: whenever you’re free. i’ll work until you let me know you’re on the way.
Shane frowns, remembering all the tasks you said you needed to do in the aftermath of the sale. He could help with that, couldn’t he?
Shane: Can I help?
Freddie: you’re sure? who wants to spend a day in the big city like that?
Shane wanted to type that he would do anything as long as he got to spend the day with you. He’d had plenty of fear when Ilya suggested seeing you, the strongest being that your connection was broken. That the two of you would be too different to make friendship work again. That he’d lose his best friend for a second time.
He worried that you’d be angry at him too. With his status and money, he could’ve easily tracked you down and reached out years before. But that hadn’t happened either. Shane wanted to tell you that today would be one of the best days of his life because it means he got you back.
Shane’s leg bounces as he types his thoughts. As he reads and rereads them before erasing it all. His reply is simpler than he’s feeling.
Shane: Yes. I’ll be there at 8.
Shane stands awkwardly on your front stoop, his palms a little slick. He’d had a strong urge to dress up for you despite the plans being to work all day— an urge he remembers from years ago that he quickly pushed away while getting dressed.
When you open the door, it makes him feel better about his athletic wear. You’re wrapped in a matching red sweatsuit looking so cozy. So happy to see him, your smile bright.
“Come in, come in, it’s freezing,” you usher him in, closing the door quickly behind him.
Shane takes several moments to take in your space. Like you, it’s so warm. There’s color everywhere but not in a way that’s overwhelming or all over the place. There’s a fire going underneath your mounted tv. It smells like cinnamon and orange and wood, and all his nerves melt away. He’s in an artist’s space and it shows. Your living room and kitchen flow into each other, and it’s clear that in the corner you have a makeshift studio.
You watch Shane silently, noticing how he drinks your place in. “You like it, don’t you?”
His gaze meets yours, and he smiles. “I do. It’s very you.”
Your smile is bashful. “Thanks. Let me take your coat.”
Shane kicks off his shoes by the door and peels himself out of his coat to hand to you.
“Sit, get comfortable. I’ll bring the food out.”
He does as you say with no objections, curling himself up on one end of your couch. He can still see you when you go to the kitchen, whirling and twirling around to the music of clinking dishes and silverware.
With two bowls in your hands you make your way back to him, holding out one to him. “A smoothie bowl for you, and breakfast rice for me.”
The bowl looks delicious, a deep purply blue adorned with kiwi and star fruit and banana slices. He almost doesn’t want to eat because it’s so pretty. Like art. Like you.
“You still eat breakfast rice?” Shane asks after seeing your first bite.
It was something he remembers your dad making time and time again.
“And I’ll never stop,” you mumble around your spoon.
“Is there more that you still do? Stuff you never let go from when we knew each other?”
You slow down your bites, gazing at Shane with tenderness. “Some. But I’m almost different. You’re different too, but the same. It’s not…it won’t be the same as it was. We’ll be okay though.”
Shane doesn’t know how you do that, he never has. Your problems were much more trivial as kids but you could always read him, and know exactly what he was asking. Even when he didn’t know what he was asking.
He nods, looking down into his smoothie bowl. Now that he’s here, all the questions have left his brain.
“How do you feel, being the best hockey player in the league? I mean, I knew you were good when I left but…”
“Um. I think I’m just happy it works. That it’s all worked out despite…everything.”
“You’ve always been brave,” you murmur.
Shane feels his cheeks flush, but he nods. It reminds him of years ago when he and Ilya had been caught. Of coming out and getting married, and finally being himself.
“Ilya was part of that. I don’t know if I could’ve without him, without loving him.”
“He’s good for you. He makes you laugh more. You’re more serious than you used to be.”
Shane’s not sure why but he feels like he has to explain himself to you. This same different self. “I have to focus.”
“I know. I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong, I just want you to be happy. You’re happy right?”
“I am. I’m really happy.” Even happier now that he has you back in his life. Its like all the pieces of his puzzle are here now. Pieces he didn’t know that he could have again. “Are you?”
For the most part you are happy. Your career is taking off and you live with your closest friends. On the weekends you volunteer at animal shelters and see musicals and eat good food. There is one thing missing that you’ve wanted. Your life is full of every kind of love, but you do want to love someone. You want to be chosen by someone.
“Mostly,” you murmur honestly. “Sometimes I can feel surrounded by people, but like I’m not actually with them. Almost like I’m there to study them. You know?”
“Yeah. I know. It was like that for me. You know how my mom is— or was. She’s different now that I’m out and with Ilya.”
“Was it lonely until you met him?”
“A little bit. I have Hayden— Hayden Pike he was on the Metros with me but he didn’t know I was gay for a long time. He and Ilya had a rocky start. What about for you?”
“I met Sabah in college. I was too…” you pause, smiling a little, “…focused. When we went back to the states for my art, it felt like the only thing I could care about.”
He frowns, shaking his head a little as the guilt in him spikes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.”
“You were 13 just like I was.”
In your loneliest moments you thought about trying to find him and then he was everywhere. There didn’t seem to be space for you in the new life that Shane started to live once he joined the NHL. Though you hadn’t made a big break like he did, your journeys seemed to mirror one another’s. Intense focus and dedication to your craft, except in all that Shane had found someone to love. You on the other hand…
“But cellphones, the internet. I could’ve tried and I’m sorry.”
“I could’ve too. But it’s okay now right? We’ll try?” you ask, voice a little shaky.
Shane has a glint of determination in his eyes. “We’ll try.”
The conversation lightens then as you two truly dive into eating. There’s talk about favorite places you’ve traveled and inspirations for both of your careers. Shane mentions seeing your art in St. Louis, and you share that you watched some of his playoff games.
He eventually coaxes you into working, he says he wants to be helpful while you have another person. All the work sounds like too much for one person and he wants to lighten your load.
“That hasn’t changed,” you comment softly as you lead him upstairs to your full-fledged studio.
“What?”
“You taking care of me. Looking out for me.”
“That’s what friends do.”
Shane stays through the evening and once your fingers are tired you insist that enough is enough. Shane wants to keep going but your mouth sets into a little pout he remembers from years ago, and all of his willpower melts.
“Think I could convince you to eat pizza with me?”
Shane rolls his eyes playfully but pizza sounds amazing. He can’t remember the last time he had it, and he knows that you won’t let him feel guilty about it. Somehow you’ll make him feel like its the best decision he’s made all week. “Can it at least have vegetables on it?”
Without thinking, you reach out and smoosh his cheeks together. Its something you did alot when you were kids, and you watch the way it changes his freckles. “Tomato counts right?”
“Freddie,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t move out of your hold. He can’t. Your hands are so warm and soft.
“Shaney.”
“Two vegetables,” he insists.
“So basil.” You finally let him go with a triumphant smile and start to back towards the stairs. “There’s wine in the fridge, I’m gonna go grab an extra blanket.”
With the day dripping in nostalgia, you and Shane decide to watch old Batman cartoons. There was a time where that was what your time together consisted of; watching these cartoons and then acting them out. You would fight over who would be Batman and Robin in the beginning but eventually, Shane suggested taking turns in all his fairness. You eat pizza, and laugh, and your head ends up on his shoulder just like it used to.
Shane feels a deep contentment, he almost feels high. Spending such a quiet day with you before the game tomorrow is solace, and his happiness grows when he remembers that his husband will be picking him up. His two favorite people together. It felt damn good to remember that he had never been alone in this world, just disconnected from you. He doesn’t have to shy away from missing you anymore, because you’re back. You’re here.
You get through about 6 episodes when there’s a knock at your door.
“That must be Ilya. He said he’d come get me.”
You hop quickly, making your way to do the door. “Pizza to go?”
“No, I can’t. The game’s tomorrow,” Shane replies as he stands to get his coat and the hoodie he’d peeled himself out of earlier from the coat rack.
More for me, you think to yourself.
You clear your throat, looking very serious as you open the door. “Well good evening, Mr. Rozanov. Here to pick up a package?”
Ilya’s mouth twitches into a smile but his eyes are smoldering. He falls into your silliness easily. “Yes, it has brown eyes and freckles. Is hot to the touch.”
“Oh I think I have just the thing. Shaney,” you sing, gazing over your shoulder at him teasingly
“The two of you are so silly,” Shane murmurs, but his smile is so wide that his cheeks start to burn.
“Come get out of the cold Ilya, Shane takes forever to put on his jackets apparently.”
“Hey, its fucking cold,” Shane whines defensively.
Ilya raises his brows but steps in, making the space feel a bit smaller with how tall he is. He’s much more open about the way he observes everything, no shame in moving his head back and forth as he takes in the details.
He leans over to you, murmuring, “It is very homey. I like it.”
“Thank you Ilya. Your husband thinks its very cozy and me.”
With the little Ilya knows of you already, that’s accurate. Because you are cozy. If Ilya could describe you in one word it would be that. He’s looked up countless english words and knows this one.
Cozy. Giving a feeling of comfort, warmth and relaxation. To give someone a feeling of comfort.
He would say his idea of you started from the moment he laid his eyes on you, the moment you slid into his arms but it started sooner than that. He knew from the moment Shane uttered your existence. Because if Shane could feel something for someone at such a young age, when he had nothing figured out you had to be the safest place to land.
Shane has finally gotten into his layers and makes his way to the two of you at the door. Ilya smoothly bends to give Shane a kiss, and then looks between the two of you.
“You got him to eat pizza?”
You grin smugly, “I think I had nostalgia on my side.”
“It had vegetables,” Shane explains, though he’ll be thinking about how good cheese is for the foreseeable future.
“This was really nice and unexpected. Thank you for coming– the both of you. We’ll try,” you meet Shane’s gaze as you speak and he nods.
“We’ll succeed,” he corrects.
“We will see you very soon,” Ilya insists, as he watches you and Shane embrace. Shane is relaxed, very happy if Ilya is reading him correctly and he is almost always reading Shane correctly.
To Ilya’s surprise, you reach for him as soon as Shane releases you. There is nothing to resist, no will, no strength and hugs you tightly, rubbing your back.
“That better be true,” you whisper, pulling back to give a warm smile.
The contrast of happiness and ache are sharp as you watch the two of them make their way down the stairs to the car waiting for them. You deeply respect their love, but you can’t help craving it for yourself. It takes effort when they both turn to wave at you before sliding in the car.
Because why does it feel like everything has changed? Why have you never felt more alone than right now, acutely aware of Shane’s absence? Of their absence.
about: a glimpse into the stepping stones that lead them down the path.
pairing: married!hollanov x gn!reader (nickname: freddie), past young!shane hollander x young!gn!reader
contents: NSFW/18+/MINORS DNI, angst/fluff, insecurity, jealously, mental health issues of all kinds, illusion to past eating disorders, slow burn, friends to lovers, idiots in love, eventual throuple, eventual smut (m/m, m/gn, m/gn/m), more tags to come
wc: 2,784
an: this one definitely has be buzzing, i am so endeared to all of them. ugh. i hope yall enjoy <3
the third constant masterlist
EARLY DECEMBER
You’ve been doing exactly what Sabah advised you to do, and its been going well so far. Being a friend to Shane, having your best friend back does make it feel like colors are brighter despite the hazy, gray New York winter.
Its deliciously slow Saturday morning, and in the last couple weeks you decided to give Shane’s health stuff a try, making smoothie bowls for yourself. Your base today is acai and blueberries, making a stunning deep purple that you adorn with edible flowers, strawberries
You take a picture and send it to Shane.
Freddie: okay maybe you were right about the smoothies.
Shane: That’s so beautiful. How does it feel to be wrong in the face of art?
Freddie: wrong is a really strong word. i bet you’d kill a man for a chance to even smell some pizza rn
Shane: rn?
Freddie: right now. such a square Shaney
Shane: This is Ilya. I think using proper grammar makes Shane happy. Is weird.
You pause, blinking rapidly. Ilya texting you wasn’t expected at all. Your palms grow a little sweaty but you take a deep breath to steady yourself. You liked Ilya. You would ask Shane about how he was doing every once and a while, so there’s nothing wrong with speaking to him. In fact it would be weird not to.
Freddie: he is a little strange isn’t he?
Shane: Very strange. Sometimes I wonder if he is wizard, spelling everyone to love him.
Freddie: i need his spell book asap
Shane: I will let Shane know that means as soon as possible.
You audibly laugh, shaking your head as you start to type your reply, but another message comes in.
Shane: Okay, he’s done with the phone. You two are ridiculous.
Freddie: and yet you love us!
When Shane doesn’t respond, you think nothing of it, digging into your bowl with a satisfied hum.
3 DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Shane is frowning down at his phone, glasses sitting in the wrinkled bridge of his nose. Ilya notices immediately. He always does.
Ilya taps Shane’s toe with his own. “Shane. What is wrong?”
“Freddie’s going home for the holidays.”
Now it’s Ilya’s turn to frown. “To Texas, yes?”
“Yeah. Houston.”
“You look worried.”
“Their parents are divorced but still try to have the holidays together,” Shane explains, biting at his nail.
“Sounds like disaster. There will be lots of drama?”
“From what I remember, Freddie will have to keep the peace. Or do their best to try to.”
They are both quiet for a moment and then Ilya says, “Put me in chat with them.”
Any contact Ilya has had with you so far has been through Shane’s phone. But he wants it to be clear that this comes from the both of them. From him.
Shane looks up at Ilya, confused. “What?”
“We will send them nice message. Encouraging for their journey home.”
Shane’s features soften as he looks at Ilya. He can’t decide if he wants to shower him with kisses or jump his bones. Maybe both.
“Do not look at me like that, you will distract me.”
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Shane insists, sending over your phone number to Ilya.
“Right, because you do not want me to fuck you right now,” Ilya says drily.
He types up a short message— something kind but not too deep.
Ilya: Hi. This is Ilya. Shane says you may have hard time while going home for holidays. We are thinking of you.
Shane: You can call or text us if you need anything.
freddie: thank you boys <3 i’ll let you know when i land.
Ilya smiles as he reads the reply, feeling very pleased with himself. You know that not only Shane is here, but he is too.
Shane bumps his foot against Ilya’s, loving the warmth your reply has brought to his husband’s face. “Okay, now I’m looking at you like something.
And when Ilya’s eyes meet Shane’s, they both know they won’t be leaving the couch any time soon.
FEBRUARY 2024
You’re sitting on a video chat with Shane after a game, half of his face covered by a sad looking icepack that he has pressed to his eye. He’d gotten into a fight during the game– one that had prompted you sending a text and then calling when two hours had gone by post-game.
“What the hell got into you? You’re not a fighter.”
Shane blows out a breath, shaking his head. “I’m not, but I can be if I have to.”
You’re quiet for a moment, just observing him. Even with half of his face covered you can see it; sadness under the angry mask. “He said something about Ilya, didn’t he?”
“They always do. When it comes to shit talking, it’s all they really have.”
“I’m sorry,” you say because you aren’t sure what else there is to say. You would do the same thing if met with that scenario. And Ilya deserved to be defended.
“It’s alright. You know how it is in your own way, right?”
“Yeah, I—god, that’s a fucking shiner, Shaney,” you gasp when he finally takes the ice pack away from his face.
“It looks a lot worse than it feels. I’m okay, I promise,” he reassures you gently.
Ilya kisses his teeth as he walks into the bathroom, in nothing but a pair of shorts, a fresh icepack in hand. “He is not okay. He is wincing every other minute.”
“I am not!”
“Oh, no? Let me touch then,” Ilya presses the pack to Shane’s eye.
Shane jumps, glaring up at his husband. “Fucking, ow– Ilya.”
“No he is right, he’s all good,” Ilya says smugly.
“You’ll keep an eye on him won’t you? He gets stubborn.”
Ilya nods, rolling his eyes playfully. “Trust me, I know.”
Shane’s cheeks warm as he’s discussed openly like this. He pouts a little. “Like you both aren’t the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. Why am I getting ganged up on?”
“Because you’re always putting on a brave face,” you accuse.
“Which is not necessary here,” Ilya finishes.
And though it goes unspoken, the sentiment is very clear; that you and Ilya will take care of Shane.
LATE MARCH 2024
Ilya’s nearly drops the phone when he reads the notification on the screen. Its a text message, and its just from you and not from the groupchat Ilya aptly named ‘People Shane Knows’.
Freddie: Shane told me you aren’t traveling with him for the game. everything okay?
Ilya pauses– he’s not sure why he’s getting this text. Are you checking on him or checking on Shane?
Ilya: Everything is fine. I will stay back with Yuna and David, they need help painting Yuna’s new office.
Freddie: oh god, i hope its a good color. and open the windows, no huffing?
Ilya: Huffing?
He closes out your messages, and googles the word, reading the definition while your response rolls in.
Freddie: breathing it in is dangerous.
Ilya: So your job is dangerous?
Freddie: it can be. so was yours, hmm?
Ilya: Yes, very. Are you worried about Shane?
Freddie: always. you?
Ilya: Yes. Always. We will keep our eyes and ears open to each other. Yes?
Freddie: of course.
Ilya: Are you okay?
Freddie: peachy keen :)
Before Ilya can respond, a picture of some clay shaped into peaches of various sizes comes through. One is cut open and painted that iconic peachy color.
Ilya gets lost in examining each and every peach. He can’t believe you’ve just so openly shared a piece in process with him.
—
You and Shane are on the phone– him in a hotel room in St. Louis, and you bustling around your space trying to get ready for bed.
“Tell me more about what it was like for you when you left. Was it as lonely for you as it was for me?” Shane asks, staring up at the white ceiling.
“I think so,” you sigh, pouring the water for your tea. “Art kids are always together, except for the pretentious ones. I liked it, the collaboration and the building but it didn’t feel like anyone really got me beyond the art. I’m more than that and I didn’t get to explore it all.”
Shane remembers what you said about feeling like art had to be your only focus, encompassing your life after your parents got you enrolled in art school. They had gotten divorced before you graduated and went off to college.
“What happened with your parents?”
“They were a clusterfuck. They still are. I don’t know. Dad’s job was too intense and it made him so fucking moody,” you let out a sniff.
Shane frowns. Are you crying? He hadn’t meant to make you cry. He was simply trying to make up for lost time. “We don’t have to talk about it. If its too much,” he offers.
“No. Its okay. We have a lot of catching up to do still.”
“Okay. I’m here.”
You smile at Shane’s words, falling back into your bed with a soft breath. “Mom was trying to keep everything together. She thought pushing me into my art was the only way to support. But she never asked any questions, it was just like…tyranny? You have to do this Freddie, and you have to be consistent Freddie, and here’s this opportunity.”
“What questions did you want her to ask?”
“I wanted her to ask why I used a certain color. Or why a bowl I once made had handles like it was a mug. If I wanted to get into music too or stay with the mediums I knew. If I was happy…”
Shane hums thoughtfully. “Why did you put handles on a bowl like it was a mug?”
“To drink the milk after I finished my cereal, obviously. I still have it, you know.”
“I want to see it next time I’m there. I want to ask the right questions.”
LATE APRIL 2024
Ilya doesn’t remember how the conversation starts, probably the constant hum of curiosity that buzzes between you. You sending a photo of your studio. Paint smudged at the edge of a frame that’s center stage. The work is unfinished in a way that feels deliberate.
It’s the second time you’ve shared your art with him. It’s no less of an honor, Ilya thinks that’ll never fade.
Freddie: that piece, i’m stuck with it. i need a title and everything sounds stupid.
Ilya studies the image longer than he needs to before replying. It’s gorgeous— a milky wash of blues and purples and whites that wax and wane into each other.
Ilya: Titles are powerful. They tell people what to see.
Freddie. exactly. usually i know what to tell them they’re seeing. but i’m not even sure i know what I’m seeing.
Ilya types, deletes, then tries again.
Ilya: In Russian there is word. Toska. It is longing, but not for something specific. It is ache for meaning.
The reply from you comes almost immediately.
Freddie: oh. that’s, yeah. that’s it.
Freddie: i think english doesn’t have that word.
Ilya: English pretends it does.
He can almost hear you laugh, he can picture the way your eyes light up.
Freddie: does it feel lonely? having a word no one has understood?
The question surprises him— he doesn’t expect you to ask him this question. He hasn’t expected any of this, there’s usually always something that ties the conversation back to Shane. He gathers his thoughts before answering.
Ilya: Sometimes. But sometimes it is relief. It means that feeling existed long enough to be named.
A few minutes pass. Then another photo arrives. The same piece, now annotated in the corner.
Toska.
Freddie: thank you for trusting me with that. and for the inspiration.
Something settles in Ilya’s chest. Not excitement. Not fear. Recognition. You understood it— understood him.
Ilya: That is rare.
Freddie: you see me very clearly, ilya.
Ilya exhales, phone warm in his hand.
Ilya: I do.
And for the first time, the feeling between you has nothing to do with Shane.
EARLY MAY 2024
Shane is halfway through replying to a text when Ilya says, mildly, “You are smiling at your phone again.”
“I’m not,” Shane denies, without looking up.
“You are,” Ilya insists. “It is the left side of your mouth. It only does that for two things.”
Shane snorts, looking up at his husband with skepticism. “What two things?”
“Me, of course,” Ilya says easily. “And people you miss.”
Shane pauses, then groans. “I don’t—”
“I am teasing,” Ilya adds, amused by the flush in Shane’s cheeks. He loves they way his freckles look especially when he’s flustered. “Mostly.”
Shane exhales and sets down. Closing the gap between himself and Ilya, he wraps his arms around his husband. “I was thinking maybe… we’re going to be at the cottage for so long this summer. Maybe could invite Freddie up for a few days. Just to visit.”
Ilya hums, not surprised. He wraps his arms around Shane, planting a kiss on his forehead. “That could be good,” he says.
Shane looks up. “Yeah?”
“It would suit them,” Ilya continues. “They love the scenery of Ottawa. There is plenty space. You are better there too.”
“I do,” Ilya says simply. “And I would like them to come too.”
That makes Shane still for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”
Ilya grins. “What, you thought this was only your idea?”
MID MAY 2024
Shane half-asleep and warm against Ilya’s side. Ilya is awake, as usual, staring out the large windows at the moon. The moon always reminds him of his mother, of her grace. He prays to it, hoping sleep will come soon. But first—
“About the cottage,” Ilya says softly.
Shane hums, barely able to keep his eyes open as he snuggles further against Ilya. “Yeah?”
“You are not worried this will feel…complicated?”
Shane thinks about it. “No. It actually feels… easy.”
“That was my sense too,” Ilya agrees. “When something is wrong, you hold your breath. You are not doing that.”
Shane turns to face him. “And you?”
“I am looking forward to it,” Ilya admits. “I think it will be good. For all of us.”
Shane searches his face. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Ilya says calmly— in a way he grows calm that is reserved for Shane. “And if it stops feeling good, we say so. But right now, it feels right.”
Shane relaxes fully, feeling like he’s melting. “Okay.”
“And,” Ilya adds, thoughtful now, “they should not feel like they are intruding on our life.”
Shane presses a kiss to Ilya’s collarbone and then the crook of his neck. “No. They wouldn’t be.”
“Good,” Ilya says. “Then when we ask, we are clear.”
LATE MAY 2024
They video call you a couple weeks later during a cozy afternoon. Shane is on the porch with shades perched on his head. Ilya leans into frame as the sun warms his shoulders.
The sight of them together looking so happy, so sweet makes your heart squeeze in ways you didn’t know possible.
“Hey boys,” you say. “You two look suspiciously peaceful.”
“We are practicing,” Ilya teases. “For summer.”
Shane laughs. “We usually spend a few weeks at the cottage in the summer. And we were wondering if you’d want to come up for a few days.”
Ilya’s mouth twitches and he playfully rolls his eyes. “Straight to the point I see. No small talk, sweetheart?”
“Leave me alone,” Shane grumbles.
You blink, your heart rate picking up a little. They want you to come to the cottage with them…their cottage. The place they call peace when the season is over. “Really?”
“Yes,” Ilya says easily. “We would like that.”
We. You tuck that away, that it’s not just Shane asking. Ilya wants you there too.
“It’s quiet,” Shane continues his selling of the place. “It could be a good place to work. Or to not work, whatever you want.”
“Very good light,” Ilya says. “And no expectations.”
You smile, clearly softening. Even now you can hear the sounds of the city; honks and construction and sirens. It could be nice to get away for a bit.
“That actually sounds really nice,” you murmur a little bashful.
“Good,” Ilya says, satisfied. “Then we hope you will come.”
You hesitate, looking between the two of them. “I just wouldn’t want to be in the way at all.”
Ilya answers immediately, voice steady and kind. “You will not be a guest.”
That anxiety swirling inside you lays to rest at Ilya’s reassurance.
“Okay,” you say. “Then I’d really like to. I’ll come to the cottage.”
about: ilya meets freddie. alternatively, the one where everyone is a little turned on but really confused?
pairing: married!hollanov x gn!reader (nickname: freddie), past young!shane hollander x young!gn!reader
contents: NSFW/18+/MINORS DNI, angst/fluff, insecurity, jealously, mental health issues of all kinds, illusion to past eating disorders, slow burn, friends to lovers, idiots in love, eventual throuple, eventual smut (m/m, m/gn, m/gn/m), more tags to come
wc: 2,120
an: so like yeah i can’t shut the fuck up about these 3, so eat up friends <3 also pls tell me your thoughts I wanna talk with yall!!!
the third constant masterlist
NOVEMBER 2023
Nothing is going as planned. You spilt the glass of wine you were having to calm your nerves all over your gray suit pants. The caterer is late. The lighting in this studio is off, making you regret your choice to outsource a bigger space.
This is supposed to be a step forward. It’s the biggest art showing you’ve ever put on, and you’ve used more mediums than ever. Clay, multiple paints, metals, even embroidery. The eclectic collection was meant to be a homage to every part of you; past, present and future.
But at this moment all you feel is panic because nothing is right. It all pales under the lighting, it’s doing none of your pieces justice.
“We’ll figure it out. I promise,” Sabah, your best friend and executive assistant assures you.
“Maybe this isn’t meant to be. We should cancel, right? Reschedule until we can get the lighting right. It all looks like fucking shit.”
“You’re being hard on yourself. Aren’t they being hard on themself, dear?” Sabah turns to look at her wife, Maeve who’s pulling new suit options out of garment bags.
“They are. Freddie, all will be well. We’ll try every lighting setting we can. We’ll go buy lights. But this is your night. Now— blue velvet or linen wine?”
“I vote linen wine given the predicament that put us here,” Sabah offers.
“Of course you do,” you grumble looking between the two options.
“Which means Freddie’s going to choose the opposite. Here we are, darling.”
In the end they’re right. The three of you tinker with the lighting options nearly until doors open but once people start to trickle in, it’s perfect. The food is all laid out, warm and appetizing. When you catch peeks of yourself in the mirrors or reflections, you start to think spilling wine on your suit was meant to happen— the deep blue fits the vibe better.
Things get into a swing, and you fall into place like a well oiled machine. You love creating art, it’s what you prefer but there’s no lack in your charm. You’ve grown quite fond of showing your art and connecting with people who truly appreciate it.
All night you are whisked around from patron to patron, answering questions and negotiating prices for your pieces alongside Sabah.
A couple years older than you, Sabah took you under her wing when you’d met at the Art Institute of Chicago. You’ve been inseparable ever since, and when she decided to go into management it wasn’t even a question that the two of you would go into business together.
There’s about an hour of the show left, and things are quiet, small pockets of people littered around the expansive space.
You’ve managed to steal a moment for yourself as you stand in front of a piece you created that takes you back to your time living in Canada. Greenery and wildlife all captured in a soft hazy glow. At the end of every show you try to step out of yourself and experience at least one of your creations as the consumer.
That ritual is quickly interrupted. Hearing steps approach, you prepare to answer a slew of questions and maybe sign something, but when you glance over your shoulder it’s just Maeve.
You smile softly over your shoulder at her, and she comes to stand beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Our people in New York ask such great questions. We should do more shows here.”
“Yes, well you primarily having art shows in places that don’t have a culture is—“
“An initiative. Sometimes a painful one, but who’s to say it’s not helping some artists flourish?”
“Down, down. Don’t get your boxer briefs in a twist. My wife says we were very successful today.”
“The numbers she threw out were insane.”
“But people said yes because you’re growing Freddie. You’re worth it.”
“Maybe so.”
The frantic heels clicking behind you and growing louder could be no other than Sabah.
“Speaking of my wife,” Maeve says dryly.
Sabah comes to stand in front of you, eyes wide with disbelief. “Freddie. Oh my god. Holy fuck.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong but we have a huge client, and you have to come with me right now. Lock in.”
Your eyes go wide but you untangle yourself from Maeve and loop your arm through Sabah’s. Who could possibly be this big that she’d freak out like this? They had to be high profile if they waited until the end of the show to come, probably to avoid as many eyes on them as possible. But you can’t think of anyone who would be interested in your art that requires that and you’re too wrapped up in your own head to ask Sabah who it is on the walk over.
The last thing you expect is to round the corner and be met with the sight of Shane Hollander. And not just Shane Hollander, but his now husband Ilya Rozanov.
Your mind flickers back to the painting you were staring at moments ago with Maeve. It wasn’t just greenery and wildlife— if someone got close enough, if they’d lean in and squint there were two kids holding hands somewhere in the brush.
Ilya whispers something to Shane who is staring just a wild eyed as you are right now.
“Surprise?” Ilya smiles awkwardly, rubbing at Shane’s back.
Sabah, turns to you, brow furrowed in confusion. “Surprise?”
“They know each other. This is not how I pictured this would go.”
“If you could give us a moment,” Sabah says, taking you back around the corner.
“Yes, sure,” Ilya murmurs.
She shakes you a little bit, and you blink at her as she asks, “You know Shane Hollander?”
You shrug, rubbing your clammy hands together. “We were best friends when I was in Canada. And we like, dated if you could even call it that?”
“But he’s gay?”
“Dating me doesn’t change that,” you bristle softly.
“Right, no, I’m sorry. Do you want me to tell them to leave? You look like you’ve seen a ghost and it’s not worth it if you—“
“No. No. I want to talk to him. I should talk to him, we were best friends,” you reason.
Sabah can tell by the way your posture changes, your eyes sharpening that there’s no arguing. You are one of the most stubborn people she’s ever met, perhaps the most stubborn on the planet. When you decide something, it’s decided. It’s one of the qualities she loves about you as an artist; your vision is rivaled as one of the clearest in the game.
You return to Shane and Ilya on your own this time, assuring Sabah you’ll be fine.
Shane’s demeanor has changed some too, his eyes are warmer, cheeks tinged pink as he stands up straight. Ilya stands more behind him, nodding gently when Shane glances back at him.
Stepping forward, Shane meets you as you walk up this time.
“I’m sorry, we just showed up. Not cool, I guess.”
“It’s so cool,” you murmur teasingly, opening your arms. “Can I?”
“Yeah. Yes. Of course,” Shane says.
You scoop him into a hug, and he’s as warm as you remember, though not as soft. How could he be, as the best hockey player in the entire league. But he melts against you, letting out a soft little sigh that makes your heart squeeze.
“You’ve changed,” he murmurs into your ear.
He’s not wrong. Your hair is shorter, and definitely not bright green the way it was back then. He can see tattoos on your hands, and is sure there’s more all over you, the original canvas.
You lean back, grinning, “And you haven’t.”
That isn’t entirely true. Of course he’s aged, he’s more fit but his eyes…they’re the brightest they’ve ever been. You’re sure that’s because he’s in love.
Right. He’s married. His husband.
You pull away, looking over Shane’s shoulder at Ilya. “It’s good to meet you, Ilya. Are you a hugger?”
“Not typically, but you are Shane’s oldest friend. I make exception.”
“Ilya,” Shane admonishes.
“Oh hush,” you squeeze Shane’s hand reassuringly before walking towards his husband.
He’s taller than Shane, and he’s the one that scoops you, enveloping you in one of the most gentle hugs you’ve ever had.
They smell like each other you notice— spicy pine with a hint of musk. It’s comforting, this is comfortable despite being the first time you’ve met Ilya. The thought sends something uneasy through your stomach and you squeeze him before letting go to get some space.
Ilya takes a deep breath, masking his fear with a smooth smile.
Because what the fuck was that? Ilya doesn’t know you and yet that hug had felt familiar. Practiced. Like an extension of—
“Don’t tell me you guys came here from Ottawa for me?”
You know only a little about who Shane is these days. You didn’t let yourself follow everything but the big highlights, the ones in the paper or that have set precedents were unavoidable.
“I have a game in a few days against the Admirals.”
“Yes, and I just cheer now. They call me WAG,” Ilya raises his brows at you.
You laugh, nodding. “WAGS are totally in. In fact some are more popular than the athletes. Better watch yourself, Shaney.”
“Shaney?” Ilya repeats.
Shane sighs. “Oh god.”
“What?” you ask, confused.
“He’s never letting that go.”
“I can’t say that I’m sorry,” you say, putting your hands up.
Shane shakes his head. “I told you they were a shit stirrer.”
Ilya grins wide and unreserved. “We wish you would join the club, sweetheart.”
Shane does join the club, but not the club Ilya’s teasing him about. Because that’s when he feels the energy too. It feels like somehow you’ve slipped your way right between them, pulling them both in. The thought makes him blush.
He sobers a little, looking between you and Ilya, desperate to change the subject. “We were wondering if we could take you to dinner tomorrow night.”
“Celebration and get to know each other all in one go,” Ilya tacks on.
“Celebration?”
“The lovely Sabah told us you are almost sold out tonight. We must celebrate.”
Shane smiles, more relaxed. “You really followed all of your dreams.”
“So did you.”
“Very sentimental you two,” Ilya observes in a hushed tone. “Is there anything we could look at?”
“Ilya loves buying art.”
“Sure, any medium that you two are looking for?”
“Painting, if you have it. Or sculpture,” Ilya says, his hand finding Shane’s back as they follow you further into the gallery.
You show them a few things, saving the painting you had been standing at for last. You hope that Shane won’t recognize it, or see the small figures that live in the bigger frame. You only get half of your hopes.
“Hey, I know where this is. By that treehouse we found in the woods right?”
“Yeah. I went back a few years ago and started this. It’s massive so…took a while,” you explain sheepishly.
Ilya’s eyes flicker between the two of you. This place clearly holds heavy meaning in your relationship. There’s no doubt in his mind that Shane should have it. He’ll pay whatever. “Very beautiful. We will take it. How much?”
“Did I hear we’re making a sell?” Sabah practically materializes beside you, but she has a knack for that when money is involved.
She brings some lighter air with her, defusing whatever heady tension was continuously building between you, Shane and Ilya. Numbers and emails are exchanged. Dinner set for tomorrow night.
“We will send car,” Ilya suggests in a way that leaves no room for argument.
Butterflies flutter in your stomach, but you nod, watching them both as you say, “I’ll be waiting.”
You hug the two men with soft murmurs of goodnight and they leave, hand and hand. You feel dizzy, wondering if you’re dreaming or if Shane Hollander really just meandered his way back into your life with his gorgeous Russian husband.
Sabah quickly confirms that this reality.
“Okay, and what the hell was that?”
You rub your hands over your face, shaking your head. “In the morning. I can’t right now, I need to freak out, eat and sleep. In that order.”
“But—“
“Amore, leave them be. We will check-in in the morning?”
“First thing,” Sabah insists.
“Like I have a choice,” you grumble. You share a two flat with the couple and most of the time it just feels like leaving the door open on conjoined hotel rooms.
You wouldn’t have it any other way. At least you hadn’t thought you had.
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