let's meet again when we're unwell

“So beautiful. Such a hungry hole, Shane.” It wasn’t the first time Shane had taken Ilya to this length, and his hole always ended up just like this - red, puffy, clenching rhythmically around the tentacle until it was too tired, finally relenting let it fuck it until it hurt. Shane loved it. “What is it hungry for, sweetheart?” Ilya breathed into Shane’s hair. Fuck Ilya and his teasing and his dirty talk, Shane was going insane and Ilya was torturing him. Shane tried to grind down on the tentacle, but Ilya’s legs spread his more, limiting his movements. He whined in frustration and Ilya chuckled. “What” -Ilya pinched his nipple- “is it” -and his inner thigh- “hungry” -,squeezing his cock hard- “for?” Shane’s breath hitched out of him with the truth. “Your eggs. It wants your eggs. Fill me up Ilya, please.”

Ilya has tentacles and can put eggs inside Shane, so Shane wants him to do just that, please and thank you!

explicit | 4851 words | 1 of 2 chapters posted | cephalopod hybrid ilya x human shane, tentacle anal sex, oviposition, pain play, humiliation kink, pissing (not exactly kink but it happens), all consensual, shane really wants that clutch you guys

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov Characters: Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, The Metros Additional Tags: Panic Attacks, Stalking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Protective Ilya, pre-Shane’s injury and them getting properly together, Escalation, people-pleaser Shane, stalking-induced paranoia, before the cottage, brief scenes with Shane’s eating disorder, Stalker fic Summary:

Fan mail isn’t exactly odd for Shane, he’s a well-known professional athlete after all. But when they start getting a little (more like a lot) personal, Shane starts to wonder if it really is just a fan, and if it is, how far they’re willing to take things.

Just making use of my free will

MHL Awards, 2014

Ilya is on top of the fucking world.

Cup winner and MV fucking P. Those disastrous games in Sochi feel a lifetime away, like they happened to a different person. That Ilya Rozanov was a loser, this one is a fucking winner.

And to top it all off, Shane Hollander is on his way to his hotel room. At his own suggestion. Hollander always says yes when Ilya asks but he's never been the one to initiate a meeting between them before. And now he wants to meet in private.

Ilya spent the past week trying not to read into it but right now, he can't remember why. Obviously, Hollander came to his senses and dumped his loser boyfriend, and he's finally going to take Ilya up on his offer to fuck. It's the only thing that makes sense.

Maybe Ilya is a little bit blinded by his winner's high. But he's also right, he knows it. Tonight is for getting everything he's ever wanted, a feast to keep him sated through the lean summer weeks in Russia.

As if on cue, the penthouse door unlocks with a soft beep, Hollander slipping silently inside.

Ilya lets his eyes roam over him shamelessly. His bowtie is undone, the top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. There's a tension in his shoulders that seems to ease as the door closes behind him. When their eyes meet he holds Ilya's gaze for a moment before looking away, blush rising to his cheeks.

Ilya grins. "Well?"

"Congratulations," Hollander says. "It was.... well deserved."

It may be the least enthusiastic congratulations Ilya has received all night. It lights up Ilya's body anyway, settling warm in his chest.

"That hurt you to say, didn't it?"

Hollander snorts. "Yeah. But it's true."

Ilya hums. Takes a sip of his vodka - it's a good brand, Russian. Hollander would hate it, he thinks.

"You wanted to talk?" Ilya asks.

Hollander glances around the room. He takes a few reluctant steps inside, placing his suit jacket carefully over the back of the couch.

"Um," he says. Opens his mouth, closes it. "It's. Uh."

He's so nervous. It sets Ilya's own nerves on edge in excitement, a hunger sparking deep in his belly.

"We, uh, Brian and I, that is. We decided to open up the relationship."

Ilya blinks, his stomach sinking. He doesn't know what exactly 'opening up' a relationship means but it at least has to mean the relationship still exists. They haven't broken up.

Fucking fuck.

"Okay?" Ilya says, voice flat. "What is that?"

Hollander shrugs. His posture has gone stiff again. "It. It means we're still together, but we can also like... see other people. Or not see, because we're not dating anyone else but, uh. Fuck. Fuck other people."

Oh.

Ilya licks his lips.

This could work.

"And this is why you texted me?" he asks.

In a way, it's almost better. Hollander and his boyfriend breaking up and Ilya reaping the rewards would be enjoyable. Ilya having to work for that reward himself, getting the chance to fuck Hollander so good he forgets all about that loser who attached himself to him like a parasite before he was old enough to know better?

Well. Ilya loves a challenge.

"Yeah," Hollander admits. He's looking up at Ilya, holding his gaze despite his obvious nerves, eyes shining in the low ambient light. Ilya kind of wants to bite him. "I mean, if you still want."

"If I still want," Ilya repeats incredulously. "Hollander, if I ever don't want to fuck you, assume my dick is broken."

"Oh," Hollander says, pink lips forming a perfect little circle.

He's surprised by this, Ilya realizes. By being wanted in such an obvious way.

Ilya puts down the vodka. He walks closer to Hollander who watches him, eyes wide, breath caught in his chest, frame practically vibrating with tension. Ilya wants to fuck it out of him. Needs it. He needs to fuck Hollander so well, he not only forgets his ugly, stupid old boyfriend but never again looks surprised at being desired.

Ilya stops inches away and Hollander sways slightly into his space, as if unable to stop himself. Slowly, carefully, Ilya raises his hand, cupping the back of his neck. Hollander's breath hitches and Ilya leans in, catching it on his lips.

He tastes like victory.

He answers: I believe that whoever created the concept of soulmates should be taken into the town square and beaten to death. Or you should tell me who they are so I can send them a check for a couple of hundred thousand dollars, because they have done more to facilitate the demise of happy marriages than I could ever aspire to doing.

The concept of a soulmate to me is absolutely bizarre. To suggest that out of eight billion other people in the world, that there's just this one person, and they happen by the way to live within like the same town as you, where they went to the same university as you - what were the odds of that? And that's the only person you could ever have a happy, fulfilling relationship with. That's insane, folks. It's insane. And by the way, it's toxic. Because here's the thing: when you get married, society essentially tells you, this person, they're supposed to be your best friend, best lover, best roommate, best travel companion, best co-parent - that's a hell of a resume, guy. Like, it'd be shocking to find someone who fits all three of those things.

So what happens when you have this concept of a soulmate? And my partner, you know, they're the best co-parent, they're the best roommate, the best travel companion, but you know, they're not the best lover I ever had. Well, they mustn't be your soulmate then. That means that there's somebody out there in the eight billion people, that they would be the perfect one. And that's what the horizon that just forever recedes and keeps people constantly craving the next thing that might check all of the boxes. It's dangerous.

Captions cover the spot on the screen you put the information I need

The dialogue is captioned but not the song you have playing that the dialogue is responding to

You only captioned the person on the screen, not the person off screen who is also talking

No captioning of critical sound effects (alarms, bells, dogs barking, etc)

Speakers are not labelled at moments where it is not clear on the screen who is talking.

Captions cover the spot on the screen that you put the information I need!

Other d/Deaf people welcome to add.

At which point they will find an ovarian cyst, but they now get whatever fucked up satisfaction they derive out of proving you wrong, because you didn't believe it could a cyst at all, but guess what? They did find a cyst! It's such a good thing you didn't listen to your intuition and came to them to verify your lay diagnosis from that third party! Bonus? Doctor doesn't have to feel like they look stupid in front of a patient, which is really what all this is about. Not your health, why would you think your medical diagnosis is about your health? It's obviously about a doctor's potential ego.

And apparently this works. Apparently you just need to be able to always play 4D chess with your medical professionals in order to find an avenue of advocating for yourself and getting you medical needs met. Isn't that great?

-

“Jesus Christ.” Ilya huffed as he seated Iris on his hip. “What the fuck are you feeding her?”

“Language,” Shane scolded as he tidied up the aftermath of Iris’ breakfast smattered across her highchair.

“She’s six months old. Or, maybe, 12 years. I cannot tell because of how huge she is.” Ilya was wiping at her face with a damp cloth while baby Iris squealed and fussed in his arms.

“I was a big baby too…” Shane mused as he finished his scrubbing and put one arm around Ilya, and gave the other to Iris to play with as she pleased. She wrapped a chunky hand around Shane’s pinky and shook it wildly.

“I know, but I thought it was because your parents wanted pro hockey star. Not because it was—“

“Genetic?” Shane cut him off with a knowing smile and leaned in to kiss his husband.