sea(ndra

I’m Sea, and I created this Tumblr account because I needed a hobby. I hadn't written anything in nine years, and after discovering Hollanov, I thought: "What if I started writing again?" So here I am!

This account is exclusively for posting "short" Hollanov fanfics. I created an AO3 account where I post some of these stories, but here you’ll find absolutely everything I write.

I love feedback and am open to plot suggestions. In fact, if you come across an interesting plot idea and plan to write something yourself, please let me know—I’d love to read it! I’m doing this simply because I want something to do after work, and as long as it remains fun for me, I’ll be right here!

Note: My native language is Brazilian Portuguese and I'm definitely not very good at English. Sometimes I'll post in Portuguese (because English just doesn't feel right in some stories), but when I post in English, please be kind and keep in mind that I: first write in Portuguese > then translate with Google Translate > then revise with Grammarly > and FINALLY publish here. English won't be perfect! (sorry)

I hope you enjoy 💖

@hollanovmicrofic / Prompt: Quiet (June n° 6) / word count: 1190 

hollanov - medieval - omega shane - knight ilya – omegas are treasured 

It was Ilya’s last day in that house. He knew it.

The preparations had already been made, and at dawn, he would leave the domains of House Hollander to officially begin his training as a knight.

It still felt strange to think about.

For years, it had been nothing more than a distant dream. The kind of dream men like him weren’t supposed to have.

Ilya was fortunate. People like him usually never achieved anything beyond hard labor in the fields; yet, by a stroke of fate, he had been given a chance.

Lord Hollander himself had personally recommended him for the knighthood.

Knights were no mere soldiers. They trained meticulously to represent the Great Houses. 

They possessed prestige, honor, and respect.

Perhaps, if he proved himself worthy, he might return to House Hollander one day to occupy an important position. Perhaps as a captain or even a commander. And, if he saved his earnings for years on end, perhaps he might even manage to buy a small patch of land. He would build a simple house (a bit crooked, a bit rough-hewn) but his own.

The idea seemed absurd.

But now, for the first time, it was not impossible.

Still, every time he reminded himself that this would be his final night in the manor, he felt a slow tightening in his chest.

Ilya knew he ought to feel grateful. He ought to be happy.

He gazed at the moonlight through the narrow bedroom window, listening to the stillness of the night as the silvery glow passed through the old glass, casting soft shadows across the room.

Then, he heard a sound in the distance. Soft footsteps moving down the corridor.

Ilya turned his face just slightly as he heard a hesitant knock at the door. Before he could even answer, the door opened slowly.

Shane appeared, holding a small candle in a bronze holder. The flame partially illuminated his face, making shadows dance across his weary features. He wore simple clothes, and his fingers fidgeted nervously around the base of the holder as he searched for Ilya with his eyes.

When he found him near the window, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“There you are,” he murmured. His voice came out low.

“Is everything alright?” Ilya asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Ilya watched as Shane entered the room and carefully closed the door behind him, as if afraid someone might overhear them. Shane walked over to the small wooden table beside the bed and set the candle down. The flame flickered slightly with the movement, casting a golden glow across the dark room.

Shane opened his mouth to answer but hesitated.

“Yes, I...” He looked away for a moment and rubbed his fingers together nervously. “I just...” He took a deep breath before turning to face him again. “...wanted to talk to you.”

Ilya nodded slowly.

For a few seconds, he simply stood there by the table, clearly trying to muster his courage. Then he began to walk toward Ilya.

Hesitantly at first. Then more decisively.

The old floorboards creaked softly beneath his steps as he approached, stopping right in front of him. Close enough that Ilya could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, despite the cold of the night.

“I wanted to...” Shane began again. The sentence died before he could finish it.

He let out a trembling sigh, then slowly reached out his hand, his fingers seeking Ilya’s almost by instinct. It was an old gesture between them. Familiar. Shane had done it since childhood—holding Ilya’s hand whenever he was nervous, frightened, or simply wanted to be close to him.

Shane’s fingers closed carefully around his. “I wanted to say that…” His voice faltered again. He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself to leap from an invisible precipice. “I…”

Outside, the night wind whistled through the castle walls, causing the heavy curtains to sway slowly.

He already knew what Shane was going to say. He knew this day would come.

Ilya pulled his hand away. The movement was swift—abrupt enough to make Shane freeze for an instant.

“No,” Ilya replied immediately.

Shane blinked, caught off guard by the harshness of the tone. The hand that had moments before held his remained suspended in mid-air for a second before slowly dropping to his side.

“Ilya—”

“Don’t say it.” His voice came out low and firm. Ilya immediately averted his gaze, as if he couldn’t even bear to look at him at that moment. The muscles in his jaw were clenched tight.

Shane watched him in silence.

Then he took another step forward.

“I like you… and I know you like me, too.” Ilya remained motionless. “When we’re together, I…” Shane hesitated again, but this time he didn’t back down. “Last time—when we went to the lake…” A small, sad smile flickered across his face for an instant. “That made me feel like we were something.” He swallowed hard.

“I think… I love you.”

The phrase hung in the air.

For an instant, everything went silent.

“We can’t be anything.”

Ilya ran a hand over his tired face before stepping back a few paces. His boots struck heavily against the old wooden floor as he walked to the other side of the room, creating distance between the two of them.

Shane frowned slightly and took another step toward him. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet.

“But do you want to be? If we could…”

“We can’t.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Ilya finally lifted his eyes, and Shane almost wished he hadn’t. Because there was too much emotion there. A raw, messy confusion hidden behind that cold expression Ilya was trying to maintain at all costs.

“Don’t do this,” Ilya murmured. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He gave a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You think you feel something, but it’s not real. This isn’t real.”

Shane stared at his back for a moment before answering.

“I’m not an idiot.” The answer came out firm. “I’m not a child, Ilya. I can tell when something is real.”

“Shane…” His voice came out hoarse.

“Stop acting like I’m making all this up.” Shane moved closer once again, slowly. “Like it isn’t mutual.”

“It’s not mutual.”

Shane fell silent.

His jaw clenched. Then he clenched his fist tightly, his fingers digging into his own palm until it hurt.

“Bullshit,” Shane murmured after long seconds of silence between them.

He took another deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady despite his misty eyes.

“I know what I felt.” Shane took another step forward. “I can feel it every time I look at you.” His voice faltered for an instant before he continued. “And I know you feel the same.” His eyes glistened, wet, yet no tears fell. Shane was too proud to let that happen.

“Fine.” He nodded slowly. “If you don’t want this, that’s fine.”

Then he looked away for a brief second, trying to regain his composure before turning to face him again.

“Just don’t lie to me.” 

The silence between the two felt suffocating.

“And don’t regret it.”

@hollanovmicrofic / Prompt: Content (june n° 3) / word count: 640

Hollanov – Domestic Fluff - Drunk Ilya

It was hard for Ilya to get drunk.

Almost impossible, honestly.

He was like a war machine. Strong, resilient, and absurdly difficult to take down. In all the years of their relationship, Shane had seen him cheerful after a few drinks. A little more talkative, more smiley but never truly drunk.

That was why, when someone knocked on his door at two in the morning, it took Shane a few seconds to grasp what was happening.

Sleepily, he got out of bed and walked to the apartment entrance, rubbing his eyes. As soon as he opened the door, he found Marlou (his boyfriend’s best friend) carrying a completely drunk Ilya.

Ilya had landed a position at a great company that week. After years of studying, working, and striving, this was a major step in his career.

Naturally, he and his friends had decided to celebrate. They went to a bar near the city center, and apparently, someone had the brilliant idea to turn it into a drinking contest to see who could down the most booze.

Shane should have gone along, but it was the end of the semester at college, and he had an important exam the next morning. He promised to make it up to Ilya later, something really nice, just for the two of them. A candlelight dinner featuring his favorite food and his favorite movies.

Shane was incredibly proud of his boyfriend, as that achievement meant the world to him. He was happy and nothing could ruin his day; it was definitely worthy of a celebration.

Shane just hadn't expected to find him in this state.

"He won the contest," Marlou explained as he practically shoved Ilya into the apartment.

After thanking Marlou for his help and closing the door, Shane spent the next twenty minutes trying to manage the disaster.

First, he took Ilya to the bathroom; getting him bathed turned out to be a struggle in itself.

Shane had to stop him from falling asleep while sitting in the bathtub, twice. Then, he had to convince him to put on his pajamas. And finally, he managed to get him into bed, after much complaining and irritated grumbling.

After turning off the bedroom lights, Shane lay down beside his boyfriend and closed his eyes.

Maybe he could still manage to get a few hours of sleep before his exam. Applied Math was a real drag and definitely not his strong suit. He was just drifting off to sleep when he felt a warm breath right next to his ear.

"Do you like Hayden more, or me?" Ilya asked in a low voice.

Shane slowly opened his eyes. Right in front of him, Ilya was staring at him, looking completely serious. His eyes were narrowed and suspicious, his face pressed into the pillow, and he wore an expression that said he absolutely needed to know the truth.

He needed to know if Shane liked him more or his best friend, Hayden.

He couldn't go on living without knowing.

Shane took a deep breath, torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to cry.

"Why won't you answer me?" Ilya insisted, his voice sounding almost hurt.

Shane finally gave in and let out a laugh. Shane kissed his curls and ran his hands through them, enjoying seeing them bounce back in position. 

"Shut up and go to sleep."

Before Ilya could start another absurd argument, Shane pulled him close. Ilya immediately settled against his chest, still muttering under his breath. Within a few seconds, his breathing grew slow and heavy.

Finally asleep.

Shane watched his boyfriend for a few moments. Definitely an idiot, but he was his idiot. With a weary sigh, he buried his face in his boyfriend's blond hair and closed his eyes.

And that night, the two of them slept soundly and happily.

@hollanovmicrofic / Prompt: Break (june n° 1) / word count: 1933 

Hollanov – Fox Shane – Dragon Ilya – Supernatural Creatures in the Modern World

Shane knew everything there was to know about the Dragon Clan.

He knew they were ancient and dangerous. Legends told tales of just how terrible they could be, how accustomed they were to destroying cities and wiping out entire clans.

Dragons rejected the weak; from the moment they were hatchlings, they were raised to survive. They sat at the very top of the food chain, the most dangerous beings in the entire supernatural world. No one ever crossed a dragon and lived to tell the tale.

Moreover, they were immensely wealthy.  Rumors abounded regarding the riches they had amassed over the centuries, vaults overflowing with gold, jewels, and rare artifacts.

Everyone knew they were greedy and territorial, and that once a dragon claimed something as their own... it belonged to  them forever.

Shane knew all of this, and yet, tonight, he sat in a sophisticated restaurant alongside his parents, waiting to meet the man who might very well become his husband.

If everything goes according to plan, he thought.

Prompt: Life (may n° 30) / word count: 1630  / @hollanovmicrofic

hollanov - medieval - omega shane - knight ilya – omegas are treasured 

Ilya had been raised to protect the Hollander House.

It was his duty, and he knew it better than anyone. He owed everything to his lord and needed to honor that debt by dedicating his entire life to the Hollander family.

Before that, at just seven years old, he was merely a boy lost amidst filthy alleyways. Nameless, without family, without a home, and without a future. The only things he possessed were the constant hunger gnawing at his stomach and the desperate need to survive just one more day.

He was just some beggar, gnawing on a piece of burnt bread as if it were the finest delicacy in the world.

Then David Hollander found him.

He took him off the streets, gave him food, clothes, and a roof over his head.

Since then, Ilya trained day and night. He needed to repay Lord David’s kindness. He needed to show him that he deserved to remain in their house. He needed to prove, every single day, that he was more than just a beggar taken in out of pity.

At first, his job was to be a jack-of-all-trades. He would peel potatoes if the kitchen needed it, tend the garden if someone requested it, or even help out in the stables if necessary.

Until, one day, while he was cleaning the garden, he met young Shane. 

Shane had just turned five years old and, strictly speaking, shouldn't have been left alone. He loved to run off and hide from his servants; thus, for that day, Ilya served almost as a nanny to the child.

But, apparently, he did such a good job that the role soon became permanent. Ilya chased after him through the mansion’s corridors, held his hand whenever he tried to escape his nannies, kept him out of trouble, and protected him from anything that might cause him harm.

Ilya was his shadow.

As time passed, Shane grew older and became more independent. His days were filled with lessons in literature, politics, and history. He was a future lord, and he had to learn to master every subject imaginable. Unlike him, Ilya had to spend hours on the training grounds. He had to be the best.

The other staff members of the mansion didn't respect him and they probably never would, not until Ilya proved that he deserved to be there. That he had earned his place with blood and sweat.

So he endured it all in silence.

The bruises sustained in the training grounds, when someone struck him too hard on purpose. The aching ribs after taking violent kicks. The insults and comments claiming that an orphan like him didn't deserve to occupy that spot.

That he was unworthy.

Ilya never complained. He couldn't. 

He simply gritted his teeth, wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, and rose to his feet every time he was knocked down.

He needed to become strong.

That afternoon, Ilya was practicing fencing with Shane. The sun beat down fiercely, sending sweat trickling down his back beneath his training gear. The metallic clash of swords echoed across the empty courtyard.

Shane had just turned sixteen. He was skilled at fencing, though he still lacked experience. In truth, Shane was good at everything he did.

He would make a fine leader. An excellent lord. Even having presented as an Omega the previous summer, nothing had changed regarding his status. Shane would still assume his duties and rule.

And his future partner, who would stand by his side would be honored throughout the entire realm. 

"You’re not taking it seriously," Shane grumbled, clearly annoyed, lowering his sword. He was dripping with sweat, his chest heaving rapidly as he wiped his forearm across his brow.

Ilya twirled his sword between his fingers, amused by Shane’s irritated expression, before resting the tip of the blade against the ground.

"Perhaps you should be the one putting in more effort, my lord." 

Shane, who had just picked up a flask of water, visibly shuddered. His fingers tightened their grip on the container as he blushed, clearly loving the way his title rolled off Ilya’s tongue.

Ilya noticed. Of course he noticed.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Shane had been completely in love with him for years.

It was impossible not to notice the way Shane gazed at him with those bright, shining eyes. Before his presentation as an Omega, before his instincts had even begun to manifest, Shane used to steal his things whenever he thought Ilya wasn't looking. He would sash the stolen small objects in his bed.

Ilya had always believed it was just a passing crush, just like everyone else in the mansion. Everyone actually found it rather adorable; that was why no one ever said a word.

They all let Shane believe he was doing a good job of hiding his feelings and waiting for the moment when that attention would finally shift to someone else.

But after his presentation, Shane became more restrained, more guarded. He learned to weigh his words, to mask his emotions, and to smile just the right way, deceiving almost everyone about his true feelings.

But Ilya knew that those feelings hadn't faded. No matter how good Shane was at pretending, it didn't stop his scent from growing sweeter every time Ilya drew near. Nor did it stop his pupils from dilating just a little more whenever he was close.

But Ilya would never say a word. He knew his place.

"Shut up," Shane grumbled, averting his gaze.

He looked beautiful like that, blushing brightly. Shane took a few sips of water, shifting his feet in place as he thought about something very deeply. After a long silence, Shane spoke in a softer voice:

"Shall we go to the lake today? It’s been a while since we went out."

"Should I summon the cavalry?"

"No," Shane replied, his eyes focusing on anything but Ilya. "Just... you and me."

Ilya should have said no. It was literally his job to say no to Shane’s wild schemes.

"I’ll go get the horses," Ilya murmured.

It wasn't easy convincing the stable boy to lend them two horses, much less managing to slip out through the mansion gates without being noticed.

The two of them rode out to the lake just before sunset.

The journey was silent and comfortable. It was spring, and the road was awash in shades of green, flanked by tall trees and wildflowers scattered across the fields. The wind tousled Shane’s hair as he gazed out at the landscape, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Far from the mansion, Shane seemed lighter.

Freer.

As soon as they arrived, Shane kicked off his boots, stripped off his shirt, rolled his ants up and splashed around the water with absolutely no grace. For a few brief moments, he seemed like just an ordinary boy.

Not an heir. Just Shane.

He didn't bother inviting Ilya to join him in the water, for he knew that was a boundary Ilya would never cross. And so, he frolicked around the lake while Ilya waited nearby on the shore.

"I caught a fish!" “Shane announced, laughing loudly as he held up a plump fish in his wet hands. Water trickled down his arms and along the strands of hair plastered to his forehead. “Let’s build a fire. It’ll taste delicious cooked over the embers. Do you know how to cook a fish, Ilya? Of course you do, you always know how to cook everything,” Shane murmured absently, pleased with himself.

“It is getting dark”

Shane’s excitement deflated instantly. He looked at the fish in his hands, then at Ilya. His eyes practically pleaded, even without a word spoken.

Ilya sighed.

Then he began to build a fire.

They ate the fish sitting close to the flames, sharing the silence and exchanging small, occasional glances. Shane sat so close that their shoulders nearly touched.

If Shane were a man without a title, perhaps Ilya could have dared to dream of courting him. He could have imagined a small cottage by the lake, with Shane fishing every day while he did the cooking.

He could have imagined a simple life.

When they finished eating, Shane lay back on the grass, refusing to leave. Ilya would turn eighteen the following week and officially become a knight; he would likely join the city guard and he could no longer remain constantly by Shane’s side.

They would go their separate ways.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Shane murmured softly.

Ilya did not answer. 

He could not answer.

Soon, Shane would marry. His husband would be a nobleman of high birth, someone capable of helping him manage his fief.

Ilya was not even remotely qualified to breathe the same air as him.

And yet, he sat beside Shane on that cold night. 

He allowed Shane to nestle against his chest and rub his cheek against the fabric of his shirt. 

He allowed Shane to hold his hands and absentmindedly play with his fingers, even though he shouldn't have.

By the time they returned to the mansion, it was late. The corridors were silent, illuminated only by the torches mounted on the walls.

Shane was carefully interrogated regarding where he had been, whom he had been with, and why he had ventured out without a proper escort.

Ilya received a punishment. He remained kneeling in the training hall for hours past midnight, enduring lectures on responsibility and boundaries.

"Know your place," his commander said coldly.

Ilya kept his head bowed and accepted it all in silence.

For that was his duty: to protect Shane.

Even if, at times, the greatest threat to Shane's heart was Ilya himself.

Prompt: Dream (may n° 29) / word count: 1131  / @hollanovmicrofic

Hollanov — School — Soulmates — Soul Marks

Shane had always dreamed of finding his soulmate.

For as long as he could remember, he had wanted it.

He wanted to experience the kind of love movies showed, the kind of love he saw his parents share. He often wondered if it would be the same for him.

He counted down the days until his soulmark would appear on his 14th birthday.

Shane considered soulmarks to be something wonderful.. To him, they were proof that there was someone in the world meant specifically for you.

The mark consisted of the first words the soulmate would say, and they would appear on the first place your soulmate would touch. It was something romantic, almost nauseatingly sweet, but Shane secretly liked it.

It was adorable knowing that all those first times would be engraved on his skin forever.

Most people bore marks on their hands; others on their wrists or shoulders. Visible places, and they were usually written with equally adorable things like: hi, hello, how are you, or sorry.

So when the mark appeared when Shane was fourteen, he was so excited he could barely contain himself. Every single day he would wake up early, get out of bed, and head straight to the bathroom just to stop in front of the mirror for long minutes, just to gaze at the mark on his skin.

съебись отсюда.

His fingers would always trace those letters situated on the left side of his neck, right between his jawline and his chin, as if trying to engrave them into his mind.

At first, he didn't understand the meaning. He thought they were just strange symbols, meaningless scribbles drawn upon his skin. He only discovered the truth years later, when he finally realized that it was something written in another language.

His soulmate was Russian.

That was a good start. He could learn Russian.

Until, on one random Tuesday, while he was trying to learn Russian, he discovered exactly what was inscribed upon his skin.

As it turned out, what was written there was absolutely devoid of anything even remotely romantic.

съебись отсюда. S'yebis' otsyuda.

In English, it meant: “go away” or “fuck off.”

Apparently, his soulmate hated him.

He wasn't expecting it to mean “I love you” or anything like that.

He would have been happy with a simple “hi.”

Still, of all the possible first words his soulmate could have said to him... did it really have to be a swear word?

Anything was better than "fuck off".

He really must have made a terrible first impression.

For a while, Shane seriously considered hiding the mark. He thought about wearing turtlenecks, scarves, and hoodies zipped all the way up to his neck. The idea seemed uncomfortable, but it still seemed easier than explaining why there was a Russian insult tattooed on his skin.

Eventually, though, he gave up on that idea.

It wasn't something he could simply change, but he decided he could at least do one good thing. His soulmate didn’t deserve a bad mark like his.

So Shane came up with a plan: he would always let strangers start conversations first, and regardless of the topic, his response would always follow a carefully structured script, so his words would never sound too harsh.

Shane just had to follow the plan and everything would be perfect.

And it seemed to be working. More or less.

Now, at seventeen years old and in his final years of high school, Shane had learned how to live with it. The boarding school he joined in 9th grade was both challenging and had particular curfews and rules. He had become a class monitor, not because he liked the position, but because he was good at following rules and the teachers trusted him to keep the students out of trouble.

Unfortunately, that meant patrolling the campus.

That was exactly why, on an absurdly hot afternoon, Shane was walking across the empty courtyard while the rest of the students enjoyed their free time inside the main building.

The heat made the air feel heavy. His uniform clung to his back, and he was just starting to deeply regret having accepted that responsibility when he spotted someone near the trees at the back of the school.

A guy.

Shane immediately slowed his pace.

The guy was leaning against a tree trunk, partially hidden by the shadows. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore his uniform in a completely careless manner.

Handsome.

Probably the most beautiful person Shane had ever seen in his entire life.

Blond hair fell over his eyes as he held a cigarette between his fingers, taking a drag without caring if someone saw him. Smoke rose slowly around him, and even from a distance Shane frowned.

He shouldn't be smoking.

Straightening his posture, he walked toward the boy, because he had a job to do.

With every step he took, Shane felt an overwhelming nervousness building inside him. The moment he got close enough, the guy looked at him, and Shane completely forgot what he was supposed to say.

He should say something.

He wanted to say that the guy had beautiful blue eyes, clear as the sky, but he couldn't. It wasn't normal.

Shane Hollander had forgotten how to speak like a normal person.

He really should say something, anything, but his silence only earned him a curious glance from the boy that quickly shifted into disdain once he realized Shane was someone from the student council.

It was a strange silence.

Until Shane couldn't take it anymore.

He would say something.

“You can't smoke here.” Shane said, his voice coming out more breathless than he expected.

The guy rolled his eyes and, almost automatically, muttered:

“S'yebis' otsyuda.”

They both froze on the spot. Time seemed to stop for a few seconds.

Shane wondered if he had heard wrong while feeling his heart skip a beat so hard it actually hurt in his chest. He must have misheard, but as if to confirm his doubt, he felt the mark on his neck burn slowly.

He knew those words.

The boy frowned. He looked Shane directly in the eyes, and Shane knew that was it—first confusion, then realization.

It was him.

And then Shane panicked.

He hadn't expected this to happen. Not today—and certainly not with a guy.

His breath hitched instantly. His fingers tightened around the hem of his shirt as he unconsciously took a step back.

The boy tilted his head slightly, clearly noticing the sudden shift and curious about Shane’s reaction. He placed the cigarette back between his lips while watching Shane run away.

Then he let out a low, amused chuckle. It was Ilya’s first day at this new school, and he already knew that this summer was definitely going to be interesting.

Prompt: Silent (may n° 27) / word count: 1835  / @hollanovmicrofic

Medieval – Arranged Marriage – Forbidden

Ilya’s relationship with Svetlana was an arrangement.

For Ilya to take his place as the future Lord, he needed a wife and heirs. Someone who could be presented to the world as a symbol of stability, someone people could look up to, admire, and, in a way, love on behalf of the House of Rozanov.

And Svetlana was that person. 

He loved her. Not romantically, but in the only way he truly knew.

Svetlana was someone he didn’t need to guard himself against, someone he could trust blindly, without worrying about being judged or betrayed. She knew every little part of him, every dark facet he hid behind fake, calculated smiles and she remained by his side, as if it didn’t affect her in the slightest.

Their plan was simple.

They would marry the following summer, officially uniting the Houses of Vetrova and Rozanov. With this, her father would attain the political influence he had always desired, while Ilya would finally take his place as heir. After all, everyone knew that his older brother had not been born to rule.

They would have only one child, to avoid future disputes. Regardless of whether it was a boy or a girl, that child would inherit the fiefdom. It was a clear line of succession, free of apparent conflict. Everything fit together exactly as it should.

And that was enough.

Ilya was content with this reality until Shane of the House of Hollander took his father’s seat on the High Council.

He was young, yet serious and extremely competent. He was simply too good at what he did, making it clear to anyone watching that he would make an excellent ruler.

Obviously, they weren’t friends, belonging to different Houses, they held different views, but ever since their very first debate, Ilya hadn’t been able to ignore him.

He was simply too good. And, at some point between formal meetings and Council debates, Ilya found himself wondering if things would have been different in another reality, one where the weight of responsibility hadn't molded them so early on.

One in which they could have formally courted that man.

One in which he and Shane Hollander weren't sitting on opposite sides of the table.

But, just like him, Shane also had a duty. A legacy to uphold. A family to make proud, and people who depended on him and his choices for their very survival.

So he swallowed all those conflicting thoughts and, for the first time in his life, pretended he knew what he was doing. Just pretended.

That night was Ilya’s engagement party with Svetlana.

All the Great Houses were in attendance. The hall buzzed with voices, laughter, and drinks from every corner of the globe. Everyone seemed pleased with the scene before them: the future rulers of this fiefdom, the couple who had been born to be together.

Ilya smiled politely, his hands resting delicately on his fiancée’s waist, right up until the moment Shane entered the hall.

Shane was dressed impeccably in the colors of House Hollander, blue and red. By his side stood a beautiful woman, likely the one who would one day become his wife. She smiled naturally, offering light, easy nods to the guests as Shane walked beside her.

And yet, it was impossible for anyone in that room not to look at him.

He looked… incredible.

If Ilya hadn't known him personally, he never would have imagined that this man was the same one who argued with him in meetings, practically snarling as he challenged Ilya’s every word whenever they disagreed.

Here, standing beside that woman, he seemed almost gentle. Amiable.

Ilya wanted to know that version, too, the one without thorns. The soft one.

Svetlana’s hand found Ilya’s arm with practiced ease.

"Try to be more subtle," she murmured, a laugh catching in her voice, though she didn't look directly at him. "You’re practically devouring him with your eyes." 

But Ilya didn’t answer.

How could he, when everything within him seemed fixed on that man?

Shane moved through the ballroom with the same controlled calm as always, and for a second, Ilya found himself thinking that they were playing the same role. The way he adjusted small gestures to suit the situation, the way he feigned a polite smile, even the way they looked at each other.

Knowing that he, too, was there fulfilling a duty should have been irrelevant.

But it wasn’t.

At some point, amidst the bustle of the ballroom, their eyes met. Ilya felt the air catch in his chest, his entire body reacting instantly.

He wanted him.

He held the gaze, his fingers curling into his fists, while Shane offered him a smile. Then Ilya looked away. Not out of weakness, but because, if he kept looking, he would do something stupid, like crossing the ballroom without a second thought for the consequences.

He was trying to restrain himself.

The engagement announcement went off without a hitch. The entire evening was executed to perfection.

But as the moon took command of the sky, the ballroom began to empty. Groups dispersed, and the general din gradually faded until it became nothing more than echoes drifting across the marble.

Ilya tried to keep himself from watching Shane for nearly the entire night. And so, when he saw him bid a polite farewell and then head down the side corridors, vanishing amidst the columns, he could not resist the impulse to follow him.

His strides were swift as he traversed the corridor with an urgency he made no attempt to justify. Even he himself did not know what he was seeking in doing so. The sound of his own boots seemed loud in the palace’s deepening silence.

Most of the servants were either cleaning the ballroom or escorting guests to their assigned retinues.

When Ilya rounded the next corner a little too quickly, he ran straight into Shane.

Shane reacted purely on instinct. Sensing he was being followed, he shoved the intruder forcefully against the wall, firmly enough that Ilya, caught off guard, had no chance to react. For a split second, he maintained the pressure, as if merely ensuring he had the situation under control. Only then did his eyes truly focus.

Shane’s expression shifted the instant recognition dawned and just as quickly as it appeared, it dissipated. Shane took a quick step back, clearly taken aback by the suddenness with which Ilya had materialized before him.

“Apolog—” The words never fully formed on his lips, for in the very next second, Ilya was already too close. 

Acting on impulse, he reversed their positions, pinning Shane against the wall.

Shane stood motionless.

His brown eyes were initially clouded with confusion, as if still struggling to make sense of what was happening until, gradually, something within them grew clearer, more aware. 

When Ilya inched forward, Shane’s fingers rose to his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his clothes in an attempt to create distance, yet lacking any real force to push him away.

He could have pulled away. 

He could, but he didn’t seem to want to.

The silence between them grew thick.

Ilya let his body lean slightly forward, until his nose almost brushed against Shane's neck. Breathing him in. Feeling him.

His lips brushed against Shane's skin with an initial hesitation, waiting for some kind of recoil that never came, any reaction Ilya might interpret as a sign that he was imagining things, that he was crazy, living out a fantasy that existed only in his own mind.

Then Shane let out a shaky breath. And, slowly, the fingers resting on Ilya’s chest slid upward to his shoulders, exploring the tension there, acknowledging the intimacy rather than rejecting it.

After that, his touches grew more intentional.

Kisses began to scatter across the exposed skin of his neck, one following the other, while Ilya’s hands gripped Shane’s waist tight enough to sting. At some point, he could no longer hold back, and his tongue traced a hot path across the skin, drawing a trembling gasp from Shane.

The urge to bite struck too fiercely to be ignored.

Wanting to leave his mark. Wanting to show the world who it was that stood there.

And when he finally did —a firm, unhesitating bite to the junction between his neck and shoulder—Shane let out a low moan that seemed to shatter something in the air between them.

Any lingering doubt that this feeling wasn’t reciprocal dissolved in Ilya’s mind.

Shane’s hips instinctively pressed closer to Ilya’s. Bringing them together.

His hands slid down from Ilya’s shoulders with newfound boldness, as if he, too, had finally broken through the last vestiges of hesitation he felt deep inside. His fingers continued exploring the fabric of Ilya’s clothes, tracing over his strong chest, squeezing just enough to hear Ilya murmur in agreement. At some point, they slipped beneath his shirt, touching his abdomen with a hot curiosity, before moving boldly down to the waistband of his pants.

Ilya’s breathing grew heavier.

He was on the verge of losing his mind and begging Shane Hollander to suck him off right there in a random hallway.

Ilya pulled back just enough to survey his handiwork.

His gaze traveled downward to where their hips pressed together, the heat radiating from that spot nearly blurring his vision. He shifted his hips, almost experimentally, thrusting himself against Shane Hollander like a hormonal teenager, but he didn't even care.

Not when Shane literally thrust back, wanting this just as much as he did.

Soon, his gaze drifted upward to Shane’s bite-marked neck, red raised skin glistening with his own saliva. Ilya’s other hand moved to take hold of his chin firmly, forcing Shane to look him directly in the eye, meeting those brown eyes, now nearly black with arousal; his face was flushed, and his lips were clamped between his teeth, holding back words that couldn't be spoken.

Ilya leaned in, ready to claim that mouth as his own, but then the sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the moment.

Shane turned his face away, pulling back quickly. A servant passed by, carrying some glasses from the hall toward one of the kitchens. He didn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he slowly moved down the hall.

The next instant was a strange void, until Shane murmured: 

“Great engagement party,” his voice was low—a mischievous smile threatening to escape his lips.

Ilya couldn’t help his own reaction: a short, incredulous laugh.

Was Shane Hollander making a joke?

Shane looked him up and down for a second. His body still burning, his eyes still slightly clouded with desire, his mouth bitten red from trying to keep himself silent.

“See you, Rozanov,” he said, his eyes lingering on him a moment too long before he turned away.

And there, completely hard in his pants, Ilya realized that they hadn’t even kissed. 

Prompt: Asleep (may n° 24) / word count: 1184  / @hollanovmicrofic

Hollanov - Domestic – Fluffy

Ilya was tired.

After looking after three children, perhaps the word "tired" wasn't quite enough. He was exhausted.

He wasn't exactly complaining about his life. He had an incredible family and loved his children completely. They were the most precious thing he and Shane had managed to create together and, quite literally, something they had been wishing for for years. However, when he decided to take care of the kids so Shane could focus on work, he had no idea just how demanding it would be.

Because Ilya knew how to handle almost anything in life, but children?

Children were unpredictable.

Yuri and Yelena were little five-year-old monsters, and even if they didn't look exactly like Ilya — physically, they were a carbon copy of Shane — they had inherited every single detail of his personality. They were little hurricanes who, from the moment they learned to walk, became simply impossible to handle.

Yelena was clearly a dominant female on her way to becoming an alpha. 

She bossed Yuri around constantly. She chose the games, the characters, and even her brother's clothes whenever Shane or Ilya weren't paying attention, something Yuri simply accepted with a dramatic sigh, as if he had already realized that arguing with his sister was futile.

However, that didn't make him innocent.

On his own, Yuri was just as big a handful as his sister. Perhaps even worse, because he had that quiet demeanor that fooled people, making him look like a harmless little angel. He was exactly the kind of child who, whenever he went too quiet, meant that something was definitely up.

Mila, the youngest, was a nine-month-old baby who was almost too calm, yet she had eyes as blue as the sea and hair as blonde as the sun. She rarely cried and seemed perfectly content just observing everything around her with those huge blue eyes.

Mila was also attached to Ilya in a way that was almost absurd. She was always seeking out his presence, clutching his shirt, wanting to sleep right on top of him, even when Shane tried to take her.

And Ilya let her.

He always did.

Because he was a ridiculous doting father who would die for those three.

It was almost strange to think that the man who made grown adults tremble just at the sound of his name now spent a good chunk of his days arguing about vegetables hidden in dinner and watching cartoons.

But he loved it, and it was exactly where he had always wanted to be.

On that particular afternoon, the twins had just drifted off to sleep after lunch. Ilya practically collapsed onto the bed after tucking them into their respective rooms. The moment his body hit the sheets, he felt as though every single muscle was begging for rest.

He still worked remotely on some company matters, so he knew he would have to seize these brief moments — when the kids were at school or when the baby was sleeping — to focus on his personal projects.

Mila was nestled right beside him, her pacifier in her mouth, nearly asleep herself. She was wearing yellow duck-patterned pajamas, while one of her chubby little hands remained clenched around Ilya’s shirt, anchoring him right where he was.

Ilya gazed at his daughter for a few seconds before shifting his eyes toward the clock.

It was 12:30.

He still had work to finish. Calls to return. Problems to solve. People waiting for answers.

But that could wait five minutes.

Just five minutes.

He closed his eyes slowly, feeling the soft rhythm of his youngest daughter’s breathing right beside him.

Ilya was just going to rest his eyes.

It was only five minutes.

—

Shane arrived home at exactly 5:00 PM and found the house almost suspiciously silent.

He frowned immediately, his fingers tightening around his keys as a faint sense of panic began to settle in his chest. He was almost certain Ilya hadn't gone out that day, so why was everything so quiet?

Silence was never a good sign in this house.

“Ilya?” Shane called out as he entered, but received no response.

He carefully took off his shoes and took another step into the room, then stopped abruptly.

There was paint on the walls.

Colorful handprints were stamped on every conceivable surface, on the new sofa they had just bought, and on practically every inch of the coffee table.

Shane stood there for a few seconds, just staring, trying to process whether any of this was real.

Sheets, chairs, and cardboard boxes had been transformed into some sort of absurd structure in one corner, something that certainly wasn't child-proof, and Shane felt his breath catch in his throat when he realized the sheer number of pots and pans forming a trail leading toward the kitchen.

Was that a wooden spoon stuck to the light fixture?

What on earth had happened?

Before we could fully take in the scene, he spotted a pair of tiny little feet running toward him.

“Papa, look!” Yelena appeared first, wearing her favorite princess dress. Her face was smeared with paint, and her shiny brown hair was a complete mess, falling all over her face.

Yuri followed close behind her. He had a pink tablecloth draped around his neck like a cape and looked deeply sulky.

Shane blinked slowly.

He didn’t even know how he was supposed to react.

“We built a castle!” Yelena announced proudly, pointing to the wreckage surrounding them. “I’m a princess and Yura is a dragon. You get to be a knight, and you guys have to fight!”

Yuri stared at him. Then he walked over to Shane and curled his little fingers around his shirt, looking clearly exhausted. He didn’t even seem to want to play this game; he was clearly being forced into it. His beautiful brown eyes seemed to silently beg for help.

Shane had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“How lovely,” he murmured, crossing his arms. “And where is your father?”

It didn’t take long for Shane to call out for him:

“Ilya?”

Then came the sound of something crashing, followed by a curse in Russian.

Shane turned his head just in time to see Ilya appear at the end of the hallway, holding Mila in his arms. His blond hair was a total mess, his T-shirt was splattered with colorful stains, and his entire face was scribbled over with blue and red marker, including a crooked drawing that looked suspiciously like a mustache.

Mila sat calmly in his arms, with little hearts drawn on her chubby cheeks, completely oblivious to the chaos surrounding them.

As soon as he spotted Shane, Ilya froze for a few seconds, clearly wondering if his husband had gotten home early. He opened his mouth to greet him, but the moment his eyes swept over the state of the house, his breath caught in his throat. 

“What…”

Shane looked at the ruined house, then at his children, and finally at the alpha covered in paint.

And he started to laugh.

Damn, he loved that family.

Prompt: Surround (may n° 23) / word count: 1372  / @hollanovmicrofic

hollanov – omegaverse - cop shane - mafia ilya

Shane was good at hiding the fact that he was an omega.

After five years on the force, lying about himself had become routine.

He took suppressants with the same absent-mindedness as someone swallowing vitamins in the morning. Always calculating the timing, always monitoring his own body as if it were just another loaded weapon strapped to his holster.

And it worked.

Being a beta was easier.

Betas didn’t attract unwanted attention. They didn’t stir up instincts. They weren’t treated as something precious or fragile. They were invisible. 

The sweet, distinctive scent typical of an omega had vanished years ago, buried beneath strong chemicals and discipline. When someone got too close, they found only the clean scent of the liquid soap he used before his shifts. 

Sometimes, a few would sigh in frustration, feeling that Shane shouldn't be a beta at all.

He was too handsome. It felt almost like a waste, but once they realized he was "ordinary," they gave up.

No one wanted to get involved with a beta.

On the police force, that turned out to be an advantage.

Shane was accustomed to ignoring his own instincts. Fights would erupt, alphas would lose control, and pheromones would fill the air like toxic smoke, yet he remained steadfast.

It was always him who stepped in to break things up when an argument spiraled out of control at the precinct. Always him pulling a furious alpha back while other officers hesitated.

Years of being saturated with suppressants had numbed parts of him.

He could go on like that forever. Living inside that comfortable lie, burying who he was until he forgot it completely.

Nothing affected him anymore. 

Or at least, that was what he believed.

That operation had been in the works for months.

The Russian mafia dominating the western district had finally slipped up, and the police were confident that this was the right moment. A major shipment was arriving directly from South America, significant enough to draw the leader himself out to the warehouse to inspect the merchandise in person.

It was the perfect opportunity.

For weeks, Shane had lived surrounded by maps, photographs, and endless meetings with police chiefs from across the city. Everyone was eager for this moment to arrive and to claim all the glory should they capture the Bratva leader.

The plan was complex, involving multiple teams. Delta Team, of which Shane was a member, was to advance through the rear and into the warehouse, covering the flank, while the other teams were tasked with covering the remaining gaps.

It was supposed to be a quick, synchronized operation.

And for a few minutes, everything truly seemed perfect.

Once they slipped inside, Shane slammed a man twice his size against a wooden crate, pinning his arm behind his back before slapping on the cuffs. Another man tried to draw a weapon but took a pistol-whip to the face from one of the agents.

Everything was under control until Mark, his boss and captain, realized that the Bratva leader wasn't there. 

Ilya Rozanov was nowhere to be found.

Shane saw his boss’s expression change instantly. Mark grabbed one of the criminals by the collar, reeking of rage and a deep-seated hatred that made Shane’s nostrils burn.

"Where is he?!" he roared, clearly furious.

The man merely smiled, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

A confident smile, as if he knew something that none of those police officers did. Another man, the one who had taken a rifle butt to the head, began to laugh softly.

And then Shane understood. It was a trap.

Shane’s captain seemed to have realized the same thing, for he cursed aloud and began trying to communicate with the other squad. No one answered.

The officers present instantly grew tense and began to regroup, almost without realizing it, as an unnatural silence fell over the warehouse.

Suddenly, breathing became difficult, almost as if the very air had grown too heavy.

Shane barely had time to take his weapon before feeling every cell in his body begin to vibrate with a strange sensation, a wave of desperation rising in his throat as he sensed the presence of a superior predator.

And then he saw him.

Ilya entered alone. His steps were slow and unhurried, his blue eyes gleaming like gemstones in his face. 

He looked like a god.

Shane had encountered Alphas before. He worked in a place that likely boasted the highest density of Alphas per square meter in the world. He had met many of them, but this... was different.

Instinct slammed into the vast room like an invisible wave. Some of the officers lost their posture, a pressure strong enough that every human being present felt their legs go weak. The very air seemed to vibrate around him.

“Look at this…” Ilya  deep voice echoed through the warehouse. “Seriously, Captain? I thought we were friends.”

He walked toward Mark as if he were strolling into a private party. A lazy smile played on his lips.

Hearing Ilya speak, Mark seemed to snap out of his stupor. He raised his weapon instantly, his fingers gripping the trigger with a hint of nervousness, while he gritted his teeth in an effort to maintain control.

“Ilya Rozanov, you are under arrest for—”

“Nice try.” The smile vanished from his face. “Kneel.”

The word shot through Shane like an electric shock. The entire world seemed to press down on his shoulders, that voice alone was enough to make him forget everything else for a second.

Knees hit the floor all around him. Police officers. Criminals. Everyone yielding instantly to the crushing command.

Shane tried to resist. 

He was strong. 

He had dealt with commands before. 

He could do this.

The concrete slammed against his knees.

His face was burning, a mix of humiliation and something akin to arousal, a heat so intense it left him feeling dizzy.

Ilya surveyed the scene slowly. Satisfied. Like a king watching his subjects bow before him.

Then, he casually raised his hand, issuing orders to the armed men waiting just outside the warehouse. 

How long had they been surrounded? Who had helped orchestrate this plan? So many different branches of the police were involved. Was everyone involved?

Other members of the Bratva stormed into the warehouse, quickly freeing their men and restraining Captain Mark in a matter of seconds. No one knew what Ilya intended to do with him, but no one dared question his orders. He was the king of that city.

There, kneeling on the ground alongside the other officers, Shane was fighting to keep his eyes open. One part of him struggled to regain control, to grab his gun and fire, to try and protect Mark. The other part, his inner omega, wanted to surrender to that sensation of finally being dominated.

It wanted to tilt his neck to the side in submission and beg for the mere touch of that Alpha.

He was the strongest.

They would have strong children.

He was perfect.

Mate.

Trying to push those thoughts away, Shane let out a low growl, more to himself than to anyone else, but it was too late.

Ilya was looking at him.

The pale eyes locked with his instantly. At first, merely out of curiosity; but then, as if he had discovered something amusing, he appeared clearly interested. He murmured something in Russian, approaching Shane with slow, deliberate steps.

When he stood directly before him, his fingers gripped Shane’s chin firmly, the blue of his eyes meeting the brown of Shane’s.

Shane felt a chill run down his spine. 

The grip on his chin was strong enough to leave a mark, yet moments later, those very fingers, which had been so rough just moments before, touched his cheek with a contradictory tenderness. His fingertips traced the contours of Shane’s freckles, almost as if in wonder.

Shane felt an urge to press his face into the man’s palm, just to feel more of that warmth; instead, however, he bared his teeth, the animal within him rising to the surface.

And Ilya remained there, staring at him intensely, what Shane didn’t know was that he had just become his favorite prey.

Prompt: Golden (may n° 20) / word count: 1359  / @hollanovmicrofic

Hollanov – Omega Shane – Alpha Ilya – Omegas are treasured

Omegas were never fragile.

Ilya, like any other alpha, knew this all too well.

He had heard stories since he was a small child about how feral omegas could be when threatened. They were beautiful killing machines, rare and highly sought after by the great families. They were the ultimate desire of any alpha, regardless of their social standing.

Ilya knew he should never anger an omega, but there was a vast difference between hearing about it and actually watching one of them break another person’s nose with a single blow.

One second, the hall was still filled with conversation, laughter, and the sound of music; the next, everything went silent.

The scent of danger and blood spread through the air like a contagion, almost suffocating, causing every living soul in the room to fear for their lives.

The unfortunate alpha who took the punch stumbled backward, dazed, blood gushing from his face as he bumped into someone behind him in a desperate attempt to stay on his feet.

Shane Hollander, the omega who had thrown the punch, simply adjusted his cuffs slowly, as if nothing at all had happened.

Yet, his eyes gleamed with a dangerous golden light.

And, in some twisted way, all Ilya could think was:

That was hot.

Ilya watched it all with an expression that shifted from amused to almost fascinated.

He had known Shane for years; yet, not even Ilya had ever managed to elicit a reaction like that from him.

Shane was nearly impossible to annoy, and Ilya could be particularly annoying when he put his mind to it.

At most, he had managed to get a single growl out of him once, back when they were twelve years old. That was why Ilya genuinely believed that Shane was the most self-controlled omega on the face of the Earth.

Now, beating up an alpha in public? That was something worth leaving the house for.

The alpha was still trying to compose himself when Shane lunged forward again. With a swift motion, he delivered a kick that struck the man’s stomach with enough force to double him over instantly, expelling the air from his lungs in a single rush; the alpha dropped to his knees before collapsing completely onto the floor.

He couldn't breathe. His face turned a deep, almost sickly red, likely regretting whatever he had done to provoke that beautiful omega.

Shane leaned down just enough to reach the fallen man. His fingers closed firmly around the alpha’s hair, yanking his head upward without hesitation, forcing him to meet his gaze.

The hall remained in absolute silence around them.

No one dared to utter a word.

"Say it again," Shane spoke softly, the sound leaving his lips as a low, restrained growl. "Repeat it."

Shane looked magnificent like this.

He wasn’t like other omegas; there was nothing small about him in any sense. He was a warrior, one of the strongest Ilya had ever known, and the pride of House Hollander.

He was simply incredible.

When the man failed to respond, Shane let out an impatient breath and muttered something in French, likely a curse, as he let go of him.

He looked down at the alpha as if he were a piece of trash, something vile stuck to the sole of his shoe, and that made Ilya stir with excitement.

As Ilya watched the omega retreat, he felt the urge to follow him.

There had always been an attraction there, but after so many years, Ilya had accepted that Shane was not interested in him at all. He had tried to be friendly; he had even stopped making ridiculous jokes because there was something magnetic that kept pulling him back to Shane no matter how many times the omega glared at him like he was seconds away from murder.

But this time was different.

Right now, Ilya knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he spoke to him.

He needed to say something. Anything.

He followed Shane with silent steps, like a predator stalking its prey, far enough away not to seem like a threat. He had no desire to become the next target of Shane Hollander’s rage.

A few minutes later, after Shane had isolated himself on the balcony, Ilya stepped inside and found him standing near the railing as he stared down at the city lights below.

Ilya had barely approached when Shane spoke.

“He deserved it,” Shane said, his tone immediately defensive.

He still smelled like a mixture of restrained rage and something sweet that burned at Ilya’s nostrils. He smelled like something red and gold, even if that wasn’t the best way to describe him.

“I didn’t say a word,” Ilya replied, far too amused by the situation.

He stopped near the doorway, leaning against the wall while still watching Shane’s tense shoulders, unable to suppress the urge to pull out a cigarette.

Honestly, he had no idea what he was supposed to say without risking getting punched in the face too. Maybe he should ask what happened. Maybe ask if Shane was okay.

Instead, he lit the cigarette and took a slow drag.

“Do you always growl when you’re angry?” he asked, and honestly, even he thought he sounded like an idiot.

That probably explained why Shane wasn’t exactly one of his biggest fans.

“Do you want to find out?” Shane replied almost automatically.

Ilya smiled. Damn it, here we go again.

“Very much.”

—

Shane was on the verge of losing his temper.

Usually, when he turned down a suitor, they would simply accept it and walk away with whatever shred of dignity they could salvage. But this particular alpha was being too persistent.

Too persistent.

Shane kept a polite smile plastered on his face for a few more seconds, purely out of habit. Music played softly in the background, muffled by the chatter of the crowded ballroom, while the man standing before him insisted on encroaching upon every last inch of his personal space.

Shane had already said no. Several times.

And yet, the alpha remained right there. Trying to talk to him as if Shane was supposed to care.

He was just about to put an end to it once and for all when his gaze drifted absently across the hall and landed on Ilya Rozanov.

The man Shane had been obsessed with since childhood. There was no pretty explanation for it; his instincts had simply chosen him as the perfect partner from the very moment Shane was old enough to understand what that meant.

He refused to give in to his instincts, even though every cell in his body seemed to vibrate whenever Rozanov was near. Yet, even while maintaining complete control over his emotions, he couldn't help but feel a colossal rage every time he saw Ilya with someone else.

Ilya was chatting with someone near the hall’s tall windows, a glass swirling slowly between his fingers. He was smiling at someone who looked incredibly lovely, leaning just close enough toward them to demonstrate genuine interest in the conversation.

Shane's smile vanished instantly.

An irritating sensation began to form in his throat, the fangs in his mouth cutting into his lips at the mere idea of what he thought he was seeing.

I need to calm down, Shane thought, restraining the claws that threatened to emerge and dug painfully into his palms.

He took a deep breath and looked away, saying no for the tenth time, ready to walk away when the alpha grabbed his arm. His fingers tightened just above Shane's wrist.

“I know you like that Rozanov boy,” the man said, his voice raspy with arrogance as he leaned in a little closer. “You’re wasting your time. alphas like him don’t choose omegas like you. Not seriously. You should accept me. I could make you hap—”

And then Shane saw red.

Red from the rage burning in his chest, from the blood beginning to trickle down the repulsive alpha’s face, and from the sharp possessiveness twisting inside him at the mere mention of Ilya.

Because deep down, beneath all the pride and resistance, Ilya was his.

Only his.

Prompt: Awkward (may n° 17) / word count: 2000 / @hollanovmicrofic

hollanov - best friends - Shane doesn't know what's wrong with his heterosexual relationship - Ilya is trying to help.

Shane had heard a strange rumor about his best friend, Ilya.

Actually, it wasn’t exactly a rumor. He was just standing in line at one of the university coffee shops when he accidentally overheard a conversation between two girls nearby.

“I heard Ilya fucked like he was trying to kill you,” one of the girls whispered to her friend, making Shane nearly choke on his coffee.

At first, he assumed it was just one of those absurd campus exaggerations people loved to invent about attractive men. Ilya was ridiculously good-looking and possessed that natural confidence that made people talk about him.

Even so, the comment stuck in Shane’s head all day long.

Prompt: War (may n° 11) / word count: 1155 / @hollanovmicrofic

Holland — Relationship Problems — Jealous Ilya

Shane and Ilya had been in a cold war for a week.

They had started dating early in college, and the connection between the two had been so immediate and so intense that sometimes Shane wondered if he hadn’t just made it all up. It was like one of those exaggerated movie romances, where everything happens too fast to seem real... except, with them, it had been.

And it had worked.

They were really good together. The kind of couple that just made sense. It was easy. Natural. Almost perfect.

So why the hell were they on the verge of breaking up?

Shane frowned every time he tried to recall the argument: the tone of Ilya’s voice, a little harsher than usual. Shane had said something without thinking, pride flaring up all too quickly.

He remembered feeling such intense anger, but not the exact reason behind it.

It had probably been something stupid and that, perhaps, was the worst part.

They didn’t fight often, but when they did, it was always like this. Neither of them knew how to yield, how to say "I was wrong", without feeling like they were losing something. Vulnerability had never been their strong suit. Not when pride spoke louder.

Now, sitting in that bar, surrounded by friends, Shane felt completely out of place. His heart felt heavy in his chest, torn between two extremes that simply didn't fit together:

I don’t need him.

And, at the very same time:

I wish he were here.

"How long are you going to sit there looking like you’re at a funeral?" Rose’s voice snapped Shane back to reality.

He let out a low, slightly sheepish laugh, running a hand through his hair before glancing at his phone once more. The screen had been lit up for far too long.

No new messages.

His fingers drummed against the screen, opening and closing their chat thread as if doing so might, somehow, make something happen. In front of him, a colorful drink (he had absolutely no idea what it was) sat untouched.

Shane sighed.

Maybe he should call.

They were adults. They could resolve this by talking. It wasn’t as if the feelings had vanished. He still loved that man deeply. He just wanted them to stop fighting.

He pressed the call button, but hung up before it even rang once.

No.

He wasn’t going to call.

Shane was almost certain he wasn’t in the wrong, and for that reason, he wasn’t going to back down this time.

—

“Isn’t that Shane over there?” Svetlana spoke the moment they entered the club, tilting her head slightly toward the dance floor.

Ilya followed her gaze and, half a second later, spotted Shane amidst the crowd of bodies.

He was laughing in a way he usually didn’t. At least, not in such an open, uninhibited way. Not without him.

Shane looked so handsome in the shirt Ilya liked best, the one that accentuated his arm muscles and made him look even stronger. Hayden and Rose weren’t nearby, but there was a man standing in front of him, smiling at Shane as if it were the most normal thing in the world. As if he had every right to do so.

Ilya’s stomach churned.

Something hot and unpleasant rose in his chest, a mixture of anger and jealousy that gnawed at him from the inside.

He wished he could put Shane inside a glass dome so that only he could see him. Shane was beautiful. Too beautiful. No one else should be looking at him like that, no one but him.

In fact, their fight had started for precisely that reason.

Shane could be too oblivious sometimes; he didn’t notice certain things. He hadn’t seen the way eyes followed him whenever they had walked across campus together, or the way people were always trying to touch him in a manner that seemed almost friendly were it not for that distinct glint in their eyes.

He started walking toward them, his face grim and his strides firm.

He couldn’t just stand there and watch.

He couldn’t bear to see Shane moving on as if nothing had happened. Not when he felt he was still stuck in the middle of that fight, seething on the inside.

They were going to have that conversation.

Right here. Right now.

When he got close enough, Shane finally looked his way. For a second, Ilya expected to find anger or discomfort in that gaze.

But that wasn’t what he found.

“Ilyaaaaa!”

Shane practically threw himself at him.

His arms wrapped around Ilya’s neck with a natural ease, as if they had never fought. As if Ilya hadn’t stormed out of his house practically fuming with rage after their argument.

The impact made him freeze for an imoment, too surprised to react.

Shane was smiling. A wide, bright smile, the kind he only wore when he was genuinely happy. Without hesitating, Shane leaned in and kissed him. Soft lips pressed against his, a warm mouth tasting of alcohol and something sweet.

Ilya was completely lost for a moment before finally reacting, returning the clumsy kiss and turning it into something real. One of his hands wrapped around Shane’s waist, holding him in place, while the other cupped the back of his head in a firm grip.

All around them, the noise of the club seemed distant.

A single kiss was enough to make Ilya forget why he had been angry.

He simply let himself be kissed by that beautiful creature until Shane pulled away, gasping for air.

Ilya’s fingers slid from the back of Shane’s head down to his chin, holding it gently so he could get a better look: the flushed cheeks, the hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his labored breathing, and that gaze that made Ilya want to hand the entire world over to him.

“Hey” The voice of a stranger beside them cut through the moment. The man was still standing there, looking at Ilya as if they were old friends. “I don’t know what you did, but you guys need to work this out.”

He gave Ilya a friendly pat on the shoulder before walking away.

“Bye, Shane!”

The only thing Ilya could think was:

What the hell just happened?

Shane shifted his head, trying to pull away from Ilya’s hand, which was still cupping his chin. As soon as he managed to break free, he gave Ilya’s fingers a light bite.

A playful bite.

But one that quickly turned into something more when Shane immediately kissed his fingers, as if he were “healing” the pain.

“I’m tired. Let’s go home,” Shane murmured, gazing up at him with those beautiful brown eyes.

And damn it—if Shane had wanted to go to the moon, Ilya would take him there.

Because in the end, Ilya was completely and hopelessly in love with his boyfriend, and he would do anything for him.

Prompt: Clichê (n° 9) / word count: 672 / @hollanovmicrofic

Hollanov — Tragic Lovers — Past Lives

Every time Ilya closed his eyes, he saw him.

It wasn't a memory, after all, Ilya knew he had never seen this person in his life, yet in some strange way, it all felt eerily real.

 It felt as though he had lived through this before.

At first, they were loose fragments, almost as if something had existed in some corner of his mind, waiting only for the right moment to be noticed.

A face he could never quite see in its entirety; a gaze, and every now and then, a smile.

And there was a voice calling his name, so affectionately. Not clear enough to form complete words, yet laden with tenderness. Every time it spoke his name, Ilya felt his heart race and a warmth fill his body.

When he slept, it all became more profound.

They were disjointed scenes. There were intertwined hands, the sound of muffled laughter, brown eyes gazing back at him, and promises whispered so close that he could almost feel the warmth of the breath.

And then there were the bad dreams.

The sensation of a blade piercing his chest. The screams, the pain, and a despair that stole his breath away. Ilya could almost feel the sensation of tears streaming down his face. There were goodbyes that seemed to repeat themselves, like a curse neither of them could break.

He would always wake up in the same state, and sometimes it took a few seconds to remember where he was, trying to convince himself that it meant nothing. 

That he was fine.

But deep within his mind, there was something that left him unsettled, the sensation that he was forgetting something important. Something he ought to remember.

At one point, Ilya even wondered if he was losing his mind.

None of it made any sense.

Until the day he saw him.

For a few seconds, his eyes met those of a man in the middle of the crowd. Brown against blue. The voices around Ilya faded into the distance, and he stood motionless, staring at the stranger who was drifting further and further away. Standing in the middle of the street with his heart pounding, he felt the unbearable sensation that if he let this slip away again, there would be no second chance.

He couldn't lose him again.

The man entered a shop, and Ilya found himself practically running to follow him, rushing through the doorway. He pressed forward through narrow aisles, his eyes scanning the bookshelves, searching for any sign of him.

When he turned a corner too quickly, their bodies collided. The books slipped from the man’s hands and hit the floor with a thud, scattering around their feet.

Ilya froze.

The man bent down first, hurriedly gathering the books with care. Ilya did the same, almost on reflex. His knees hit the floor just as his hand reached for one of the volumes.

Their fingers brushed.

A spark shot through Ilya like an electric shock. When he finally looked up, the man was already watching him.

"Thank you," the man said, still clutching the books against his chest. His voice was calm, though tinged with a hint of bewilderment. It felt like a bizarre cliché and if Ilya hadn't been so shaken, he probably would have made a joke about it. After a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, the man added: "Do we... know each other?"

Ilya opened his mouth.

He had even forgotten how to form words in English. His hands were still trembling slightly.

Then he took a step forward, just enough to close the distance between them, afraid that any space left between them would be enough for the man to vanish once more.

"I don't think so," Ilya replied.

The man smiled.

"I'm Shane. And you?" And Ilya felt (with a deep, irrational certainty) that somewhere inside him, he had spoken that name before.

And the only thing he wanted to say now (the only absolute truth, impossible to explain) was that he knew.

Prompt: Romance (May n° 6) / word count: 684 / @hollanovmicrofic

hollanov - established relationship – fluffy

Shane had a foolproof plan. 

The idea was simple: a dinner with Ilya's favorite food (made strictly following a recipe Svetlana had given him and prepared in a way that made it edible according to her), a playlist of carefully chosen songs, and, at the end of the night, an action movie (something Ilya loved), accompanied by popcorn.

It was simply the best date in the world.

The kitchen was slightly messy, even though Shane had tried his best to leave the house spotless. He stirred the pan with dedicated attention, slightly frowning as he tried to follow the recipe on his phone propped up beside him.

Perhaps he should have looked for a YouTube video, because, apparently, this recipe was more complex than it seemed.

He tasted a little of what was on the spoon and made a slight grimace. Maybe a little more salt? He thought, as he added salt to the pan and stirred again.

Shane was so focused that he barely heard footsteps behind him. Before he could react, arms wrapped around his waist.

Ilya.

He leaned completely against Shane's back, resting his chin on his shoulder, his nose lightly brushing his skin before leaving a distracted kiss on his cheek.

Ilya had just gotten out of his long post-practice shower and his skin was still slightly damp, a towel wrapped around his neck, and subtle drops of water still dripping from his hair. He smelled of a mixture of shampoo and liquid soap, and it was probably Shane's favorite scent.

"What are you doing?" Ilya asked, his voice low, almost lazy, as he tightened his embrace a little more.

Shane continued stirring the pot, trying to ignore the slight shiver that ran up his neck.

"Dinner."

Ilya leaned forward slightly, trying to peek at the contents of the pot, his arms still wrapped around him.

"Stroganov? What have you done?" he asked, his tone heavy with feigned suspicion. He didn't seem exactly worried, but at the very least, he was curious that Shane was making something for him.

Since when did Shane know Russian dishes, for starters?

"Nothing," Shane replied, sounding almost offended.

Ilya let out a small "hm," clearly unconvinced. He slid one hand from his waist to Shane's stomach, distractedly, while continuing to look around the kitchen. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Shane still stirring the pot while Ilya hugged him, simply enjoying each other's closeness.

After a long moment of peace and quiet, Ilya's voice broke the moment.

"Are  we inviting someone for dinner?"

Shane shook his head, saying no.

Ilya tilted his head, eyebrows raised, as he took a closer look at the pot that was almost overflowing with food.

"Then why did you make a full pot?"

"I'm following the recipe, Ilya."

Ilya let out a low, muffled laugh against his shoulder. Then he pretended to bite his shoulder, eliciting an irritated grumble from Shane.

"How are you so bad at math?."

"Shut up."

Ilya laughed again, clearly pleased, tightening his embrace as if snuggling even closer. He didn't let go. He stayed there, watching Shane cook as if that were entertainment enough.

And then the lights went out. The kitchen plunged into darkness, leaving only the dim light coming from the window.

Shane stood motionless for a second, the spoon still in the pan. The universe had to be messing with him. 

Shane could practically feel his blood pressure rising from the stress. His mind could only keep repeating, of all days, why did it have to be today? 

He probably would’ve completely lost it if Ilya hadn’t let out an amused laugh, his lips brushing against Shane’s neck in a ghostlike touch.

"Candlelit dinner then? So romantic."

Shane rolled his eyes, even knowing he probably wouldn't even be able to see.

He let out a short sigh, letting his head fall slightly back, resting for a second on Ilya's shoulder.

Without light, there was no background music, much less a movie.

But honestly, maybe a candlelit dinner wouldn't be so bad after all.

Prompt: Camera (May n° 5) / word count: 820 / @hollanovmicrofic

hollanov - school - Ilya is in love with Shane - Shane doesn't understand

Ilya was deeply in love. He couldn't deny it, and it was quite obvious if anyone paid attention.

He had fallen completely in love from the moment he entered the new class and saw a boy sitting in the front row, who didn't even bother to look up at him, distracted by his own homework.

The most handsome guy he had ever seen in his life.

He was completely in love with Shane Hollander and was determined to win him over, even if it was the last thing he did.

He had an initial plan: to be friendly with Shane until they became friends and, consequently, boyfriends and, when Shane least expected it: marriage.

Everything seemed perfect in his mind, but in practice, it wasn't so simple, mainly because Shane paid no attention whatsoever to Ilya's antics.

Ilya was trying hard, attempting to be his funniest self, swallowing a bit of sarcasm and irony every time they saw each other, even trying to be friendly with Shane's unbearable best friend, Hayden.

Ilya had lost count of how many opportunities to tease Hayden he had missed. And there were many.

All so that Shane would look at him for just one more second.

Ilya was running out of ideas. In his head, he thought he had already tried everything, but even so, the Hollander boy simply didn't notice him.

How do you approach someone who doesn't pay attention to you?

He sighed deeply and picked up his cell phone. In the background was a picture of a distracted Shane, one he had secretly taken.

It just happened. He was standing fiddling with his phone one day when he looked up, the light from the window falling on Shane's face.

Shane was leaning on his arm, the pencil resting between his lips, staring intently at his notebook. He looked so handsome. Before he could even think it through, Ilya had already pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. That photo was his greatest treasure, and Ilya would probably print it soon and keep it forever.

"Why do you have a picture of Hollander on your phone?"

Marlow’s voice, one of his best friends, suddenly rang out. He was leaning right behind Ilya, squinting at the screen, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

Ilya froze.

"What are you talking about?" Ilya gave a forced laugh; at some point, he had already frozen his phone, looking away too quickly. "Look, class is about to start."

Marlow shrugged, but not before glancing at him again, a little suspiciously.

He prayed Marlow stayed quiet. Really.

When class ended, Ilya stood up and hurriedly packed everything into his backpack. He needed to kill Marlow for knowing his secret; it was the only solution.

With his backpack on his back, Ilya frantically started to put a plan together. He was almost out of the room when he heard a voice he thought he'd never hear.

"Hi."

Ilya froze. 

Slowly, he turned around. Shane, the love of his life, was standing right behind him, his brown eyes staring at him.

"Your name is Ilya, right? I'm Shane." Ilya's breath was caught, and his hands were sweaty; his mouth was completely dry. "If you need help, you can talk to me. Here's my number."

Shane held out the paper, and as soon as Ilya took it, he gave a small smile, then turned and walked away.

Ilya stood there, motionless, clutching the paper as if it were a lifeline. His fingers tightened slightly, afraid it might disappear if he didn't hold on firmly.

Ilya could only think: Is this guy flirting with me?

—

Earlier that day, the teacher came to speak with Shane.

He was the class representative, and she asked him to pay attention to the transfer student and help him integrate to the class.

Shane listened silently, nodding once, without arguing.

When the teacher left, he stood still for a second, his gaze still fixed on the door; then he took a deep breath. And finally looked at the new boy in the class. 

He was sitting in a circle of friends, talking so loudly that it was impossible not to hear his voice.

Ilya was always teasing him. Every time Shane looked at him, he stared back with a provocative smile on his lips, making terrible jokes and trying to annoy him. Shane could only think:

Is this guy trying to pick a fight with me?

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

Anyway, he would do what he was told. He would be a good class representative and help the new student, even if he was unbearable.

A handsome unbearable guy, Shane's conscience spoke.

He shook his head, trying to push that thought away, quickly running a hand through his hair.

He was just another student. That's all.

There was nothing special about him, no matter how handsome he was.

He would talk to Ilya after class.

Prompt: Heartbreak (May n 8) | word count: 356 | @hollanovmicrofic

hollanov - ex boyfriends - first love - angst

A única vez que Shane amou alguém foi quando se apaixonou por Ilya.

Era estranho admitir isso.

Admitir que, antes dele, nunca tinha sido amor de verdade.

Shane até teve outros relacionamentos, mas, olhando para trás, tudo parecia raso demais, uma mistura de tédio com aquela incapacidade crônica de dizer “não” quando esperavam algo dele.

Ele queria ser como as outras pessoas, por isso tentou se permitir. Sua mãe sempre disse que ele deveria dar uma chance para as pessoas, e por isso ele deu.

Ele tentava. De verdade.

Se esforçava para sentir o que diziam que ele deveria sentir, tentando corresponder e se encaixar naquilo que parecia tão natural para todo mundo.

Parecia que ele estava mentindo.

Os beijos eram estranhos, e Shane nunca entendeu por que as pessoas gostavam tanto de beijar. A verdade? Beijo parecia superestimado. E aquelas descrições intensas dos livros pareciam exageradas, quase irreais.

Até conhecer Ilya.

Com Ilya, foi diferente desde o começo. Foi algo tão natural que ele realmente se sentiu em um conto de fadas.

Foi a primeira vez que Shane sentiu o próprio coração disparar sem aviso, o ar faltar nos pulmões, o sorriso crescer toda vez que via aquela pessoa, o nervosismo de querer saber tudo sobre alguém. O tempo ao lado dele se tornava insuficiente, não importava quanto durasse.

Pela primeira vez, ele não estava tentando sentir algo.

“Ah, então é assim que deveria ser”, ele pensou e, por alguns segundos, parecia real.

Parecia certo.

Parecia assustador.

E agora, sem Ilya, o mundo tinha voltado a ser silencioso demais.

Não havia ninguém esperando em casa com um sorriso largo e uma piada pronta, ninguém perguntando como havia sido o seu dia. Havia apenas um vazio.

Shane tinha a sensação incômoda de que nunca mais amaria alguém daquele jeito. Talvez nunca mais amasse, ponto.

Ilya o havia arruinado para outras pessoas.

Porque, em cada rosto novo, ele procurava alguma coisa… um gesto, um olhar, um tom de voz. Qualquer fragmento que lembrasse Ilya. Qualquer possibilidade de sentir, nem que fosse por um segundo, aquele mesmo sentimento.

Mas nunca era o suficiente.

Nunca era ele.

note: I just wrote this and felt like I had to share it. I was listening to “Ruined Me” by Muni Long while writing, and my chest actually ached the entire time.

Prompt: Smile (May n° 4) / Word Count: 1221 / @hollanovmicrofic

established relationship — domestic — original children hollanov

Yuri was a little 3-year-old hurricane.

Physically, he was the perfect copy of Shane, the same features, the same look, even the same way of frowning when something didn't go his way. 

But in everything else, he was a smaller version of Ilya. Stubborn, intense, dramatic, simply too chaotic. 

And, to the happiness (or despair) of both of them, he had just entered the phase where tantrums became his official language.

Ilya barely had time to take off his coat before hearing:

"Papa!"

Hurried footsteps echoed across the wooden floor followed by a direct impact against his leg. Yuri clung to him tightly, almost losing his balance, his little fingers closing on Ilya's pants, burying his face in the fabric as if he were running from a monster.

"Chto s toboy sluchilos’, lyagushonok? What happened to you, little frog?" he asked, already suspicious, leaning slightly to reach the boy better.

Yuri began to speak while gasping for air, mixing Russian, French, and English. There were some things Ilya hadn't understood, but the conclusion was clear: his dada was bad.

Ilya looked up.

Shane was standing there in front of the door, his arms crossed in front of him. His posture was firm, but he clearly looked tired, with slight dark circles under his eyes and the kind of exhaustion of someone who had spent the whole day dealing with a three-year-old.

Clearly in need of a hug.

"He doesn't want to take a bath before bed," Shane said after a long sigh, running a hand over his face as if trying to maintain his patience.

Ilya sighed through his nose, briefly closing his eyes as he tilted his head to the side, already assessing the emotional strain of the entire situation.

For a moment, just one, he considered giving in. 

Maybe today wasn't bath day. In some countries, it was even normal for a child not to bathe before bed. It was completely okay to simply skip that part and let the child sleep covered in dirt.

But then he met Shane's gaze.

Don't you dare.

Ilya blinked slowly, reconsidering his own existence. 

Shane would kill him if he dared to say anything to the contrary, so it was easier to simply agree with him, even knowing that there would be a big show from Yuri in a few minutes.

"Your dad is right. Go get ready," Ilya said, his voice firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

The effect was almost immediate.

Yuri stood motionless for a second, perhaps long enough for him to translate those words, and looked at Ilya as if a giant betrayal was happening in real time.

And then everything collapsed. 

The crying was loud and immediate, Yuri clung to Ilya's legs again even tighter, his small hands full of dirt leaving dark marks on the fabric.He then started stamping his little foot on the ground in utter indignation, his face hidden against Ilya's leg in protest.

Ilya took a deep breath, bending his body down and lifting the boy with one arm, fitting him onto his hip with ease. 

Still protesting between sobs, Yuri was carried to the bathroom, swaying slightly with each step Ilya took down the hallway.

There, at the kitchen door, Shane stood for a few seconds, observing the scene.

It was so difficult.

He was so tired, so exhausted.

He loved their child so much it hurt, but there were days when it was simply too hard.

In less than 3 minutes the sound of crying was replaced by little giggles, the sound of hands slapping the surface of the bathtub and water moving enthusiastically. 

In the bathroom, Yuri had completely forgotten the war he waged minutes before. He was in the warm water, his wet hair sticking to his forehead, making him look like a wet puppy, laughing loudly as he played with Ilya.

They spoke in Russian, because that was their secret language, just as French was his secret language with Shane, and that made his heart burn and feel warm.

They were so beautiful together.

"Khochesh etu utku? Do you want this duck?" said Yuri, pointing with exaggerated seriousness at the rubber ducky in his small hand.

"Da. Yes" replied Ilya, extending his fingers to grab it.

"Eto dlya dada, ya ne mogu tebe yeyo dat’. It’s for Dada, I can’t give it to you" Yuri replied, wrinkling his nose as if he were explaining a very important rule.

Ilya laughed and stretched out his fingers to tickle the child, who almost screamed with excitement, writhing in the water, trying to escape.

"Moy malen’kiy monstrik. My little monster "

Later, when the water was turned off, the change was equally abrupt.

Yuri was pulled from the bathtub still wet, reflexively protesting as Ilya wrapped him in a towel that was too big for his small body. He tried to break free twice, but was easily restrained, being lifted into his arms soon after.

"It's all yours now," Ilya said, carefully adjusting the towel around him, pulling it a little tighter so it wouldn't slip.

Shane approached at that moment, leaning in to quickly kiss Yuri's still-damp cheek. His hand lightly ran through the boy's hair, gently brushing a wet strand from his forehead.

Yuri, restless, didn't last even three minutes in Ilya arms before he started to squirm. He pushed against Ilya's chest with his small hands until he was finally placed on the floor. 

As soon as he felt the contact of his feet with the cold floor, he hesitated for half a second and then ran through the house like a hurricane.

“Want another one?” Ilya asked, completely soaked from head to toe after that quick bath, drops still trickling down his neck and disappearing under his shirt collar.

“Very funny,” Shane murmured, letting out a long sigh, but unable to hide the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Almost without realizing it, he leaned slightly towards Ilya, resting his back against his body.

“I always am,” Ilya replied. His eyes were still fixed on the hallway where Yuri had disappeared, a silly grin still plastered on his face.

For a few seconds, only the distant echo of the child's hurried footsteps could be heard… until the sound simply ceased. An abnormal silence.

Shane frowned slightly, already anticipating trouble. He knew his own son well enough to know that this kind of quiet never meant anything good.

He was already pulling away when he felt Ilya's hand slide down to his waist, pulling him back. The wet shirt against his skin sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

"Give me kiss"

Shane rolled his eyes, but couldn't resist. He leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

Ilya, however, clearly wanted more. He tried to pull him back, to deepen the kiss.

Shane laughed, barely escaping. He had to put pajamas on a child before he destroyed the house.

Ilya let out an exaggerated sigh, running a hand through his wet hair as he watched him walk away.

That night, it was Ilya's turn to make dinner, and while everyone sat at the table, with various attempts to persuade Yuri to eat more than two bites, it simply seemed perfect.

A beautiful family.

And, in its own messy way, happy.