shane very frustrated after losing his first game after he joined the cens. it wasn’t a big loss but still stings. he wanted to win all, he needed to win all. he can’t let people think less of him after he left the montreal metros in such a disappointing way, practically thrown away from a team he worked his ass off for a decade. he was walking through the tunnel towards the locker room, carrying his helmet in his hand, face down. muttering to himself already thinking about everything he done wrong and can work it out to become better later. then he hit something solid and bounce back a little and then look up and he came face to face with his husband. he pauses and it hits him, he’s not going home by himself anymore after losing a game, ilya is right there. he says with his voice choked up “oh you are really here” and ilya just opens his arms and shane just collapses right into them and ilya coos “it’s okay sweetheart we’re together now, yes?” stroking his hair and shane tries to nod against his husband’s neck and just tightens his arms around him. losing just doesn’t hurt that bad anymore, he has ilya.
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Now that posting and reveals are over, we thought we'd share a little Moony's Midlife Crisis Fest 2026 Wrapped! We hope you've been enjoying all the wonderful MMCF works and remember to carry on showing all the works some love with lots of lovely kudos and comments ❤️
( +1...Hollanov is out and proud, celebrating Pride at a club in Ottawa)
Snippet:
“Want a drink?” he asked Shane as they came toward the bar. He looked around for their friends but Troy and Harris had already disappeared into the crowd.
“Sure,” Shane said, easily. Ilya smiled. He enjoyed this looser version of his husband that he mostly saw on vacation or at the cottage. He appreciated it when Shane let himself say yes to things like drinks, eating what he wanted, dancing without second guessing himself.
As they approached, the bartender’s eyes widened in recognition. “I’ve got just the thing for you,” the bartender said before they could say anything. Ilya glanced at Shane and grinned. Shane grinned back, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s waist.
“Did I tell you I like the outfit?” Shane said in his ear, sending a shiver down his back.
“Maybe,” Ilya said, coyly. “How much do you like it?” Shane chuckled softly and Ilya felt him slip his hand under the shirt, rubbing at his warm skin.
“I like it a lot,” Shane said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Ilya sighed, leaning back against Shane as Shane’s fingers moved lightly across his abs, tracing along the taut muscles.
“Try this,” the bartender said, returning. Ilya refocused with difficulty, a little pouty that Shane had taken his hand back.
Ilya passed one of the glasses to Shane. “Cheers,” he said and took a sip. The drink was cold and crisp, vodka with a citrusy flavor.
“You like it?” the bartender asked, trying not to look too eager.
“Yes, it is good,” Ilya said. Even if he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t have said so.
"[...] his favourite part of the day is when Sirius rolls over and throws a leg over him in the scarlet, four poster bed. It's so carelessly casual the way Sirius nestles against him, in every crevice of his personal space, as if the twelve years had been a blink of an eye, as if this is the natural order of things."
Call of the Greenwood, by @euripidestrousers Small islands of calm amidst turbulent waters
Listen when they go in their honeymoon- in my head it’s somewhere so fucking remote and hot, bright bright sun and warm sticky days and total isolation. A stupid expensive beautiful island somewhere hardly anyone speaks English, where Shane and Ilya can just be husbands- nothing else, not know- not recognised, just two stupid in love young boy- newlyweds. Most of the time they are in their fuck off expensive huge sexy villa, the large pool it had, or on the small beach that is private to them. They’d bought groceries on the drive in from the dock- a hired old jeep that Shane had driven while Ilya had gripped at his thigh and babbled excitedly about the sun Shane- the trees, the heat- about how he texted David and Yuna they were here safely and now they could ignore their phones. It’s night four of the two weeks they have- they are running low on groceries and had fucked each other in every possible spot of the house at that point and decided they should maybe head into the small center of the village. Basically one main street with food markets, a couple bars and shops scattered.
They get dressed after a quick shower together that nearly sprawls into a long shower together but Shane is pushing Ilya’s hands away like “we need to see more than just the villa even once” and Ilya is all pouty but fine fine. So they are clothed fully for the first time since getting there, Ilya’s hair springy wet curls, a thin button down long sleeve with the sleeves rolled up, mostly unbuttoned, shorts that Shane is sure must be new, shorter than any pair he’s had before. Feet shoved into Birkenstocks because David has bought Ilya a pair last Christmas and Ilya treasures his “dad sandals”. Shane’s in a short sleeve button up, fabric so thin it’s basically see through, the colour bright against Shane’s developing tan- making his more pronounced freckles pop, a loose pair of long white gauzy pants that Rose had talked him into buying when Shane had been unsure. Shane was glad he had- when Ilya’s hands had already found their way to his hips and ass as they walked out of the villa.
They decide to walk, it’s not wildly far by foot and slow quiet still hand in hand in the low sun of the late afternoon is lovely, a peace over both of them they don’t usually have, a lack of pressure- of rush. It’s like the cottage, a warm syrup of bliss, the comfort of the two of them.
Two hours later they find themselves a good bit drunk, a bit sunburnt. Sticky summer humid warm and heavy and basically sharing one chair in a dark corner of the sand floor bar. Ilya had tugged Shane’s wide backed chair into his own after the third cocktail, a satisfied little grunt when he could get his hand on Shane’s thigh and play his fingers over the fabric covering them.
“These” Ilya paused for a moment, licked salt left over from the rim of his cocktail from his bottom lip. “are very” he waved his hand “you know- trendy, sexy” Ilya had flirted at him with a suck of his teeth and small shrug before the ordered them another round of drinks. Now, Shane had progressed to leaning into the edge of his chair that was pressed to Ilya’s, his fingers playing with the few secured buttons that hid Ilya’s snail trail and muscles of his abdomen, touch dipping below the fabric in teasing touches, scratches of his nails.
Shane’s face is flushed warm and he can feel the loose warm thrumming buzz of the drinks he’s had, across his chest and shoulders, down his throat, behind his ears. His head, his whole body, is turned toward Ilya, shoes kicked off and knees drawn up, feet resting on his seat. Ilya looks like an angel- a god. a man- Shane’s man. He’s all exposed skin, shining with the damp slick of his sweat, low warm light outlining his shape, the width of his shoulders, the light fabric that covers them, the round strong pretty shape of his chest shown off by open buttons, the hair between his pecks, the honey sunshine of his cross glinting, the matching gold from Shane tied around his ring finger, his his his his his his. Shane thinks, smug. The hottest man in this bar, in every room. His his his.
Shane’s cock gives a soft throb, heat rushes down to his groin and he adjusts his hips, sits further back into his chair and slides his hands in further into Ilya’s shirt, feels the rise and fall of his breathing, the strong muscles shifting. He eyes the shape of Ilya’s jaw, the scruff of facial hair unkept over the last few days, a bit rough when they kiss, the shape of his Adam’s apple, the long curls slick with sweat around his ears and the base of his neck. Shane wants to crawl into his lap and shove his nose into the sweat soaked hair, breath him in, boyish and warm- sweat and sunscreen and cologne he put on just for dinner, just for Shane to smell on him.
Music plays through the thick air of the summer night, others shift and talk and laugh at tables around them, the room moves around them, shapes and heat and strappy dresses and clinking glasses. Shane doesn’t care for any of it, he watches Ilya’s feet broad feet shift, body move as he reaches for the cocktail glass on the table in front of them, the drink inside fizzy and mint, icy and sweet, stacked with ice that fusses as he lifts it. His fingers are long where they wrap around the stem of the glass, condensation drips over them and Shane wants to be the glass, wants to melt over him, to drip. Shane blinks, eyelashes feel heavy and he parts his mouth, licks over his bottom lip, and he aches aches, wants wants- smooths his hand up Ilya’s body, fingers fidget on his chest.
Ilya hums, his head moves and his chin is then digging into Shane’s head. A large hand cups Shane’s cheek and then the glass is at his lips, pressing there cold and sweet smelling and his mouth waters. “Drink” Ilya mumbles, tilts the glass and Shane does, sips for as long as Ilya keeps the glass tilted up for him, till his nose tingles with it. Ilya pulls the glass away and Shane hears and feels Ilya sip and swallow the rest of it before the glass is placed back on the table.
Ilya’s hand shifts Shane’s face up, and Ilya is looking down at him then, gorgeous tanned face and parted lips and then he’s smiling down at Shane, cheeks bunched and eyes full of starlight and he’s whispering “you like this one Zaychik? Is yummy yes?” And Shane feels universes shift under his skin. Shane nods. “Very yummy” he repeats back and watches Ilya smile at his use of his word back him.
Ilya parts his lips to speak but Shane can’t wait longer with Ilya’s breath fanning out over his mouth and he tilts his head up and leans in, kisses kisses kisses the cocktail taste out of Ilya’s mouth, sucks at his bottom lip, feels himself turn starving- pulses in his wrist ache and he needs- he wants so much, and as he goes to pull away, shy of too much affection in public but he instead sways in closer, reaches up to fist his hand in the back of Ilya’s curls and kisses him more thoroughly. No one knows them here- his husband is fucking hot. His! Husband ! Wants to make sure he likes the taste of his drinks, kisses him like a slut and holds him like a precious thing. Shane kisses him hot and messy and needy, kisses him as he climbs across chairs and into Ilya’s lap, kisses him as the world shifts around them- warm and real and a thousand miles away from the pulse between Shane and Ilya. In this bar they can be the couple too drunk and messy to help themselves - and Shane sinks into that.
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times ilya rozanov was so lost in the sauce that he ascended to a higher plane: in (mostly) chronological order from hook-up era to marriage
the first time shane rode him during the hook-up era. when shane was still hollander, still nothing more than a torturous daydream, something he could have for small, greedy moments before having to let go of again. and he's still in denial about it all at this point, unwilling to put a name to that echoey, achey feeling in his chest that blooms when hollander leaves their bed and puts his carefully constructed mask back in place. Shane Hollander--the captain, the teenage phenom, the golden boy, the pride and joy of Canada--replacing the boy ilya had just had under his fingertips, in his mouth, beneath his body. anyway. it's a heady thing, for ilya, to have this side of hollander. to have hollander sat on top of him, holding ilya down with his wrists pinned above his head, hips moving slow and confident and maybe a little mean as he pants and grins and teases "you okay there rozanov?" and ilya just nods. he's totally okay, he's not seeing god or nirvana or angels or whatever the fuck. it's just hollander, bent over him, pretty face full of open wanting, a flush high on his cheeks, his mouth bitten red and slack around sweet sweet little 'unh unh unh' sounds every time he rolls his hips just right. and ilya just lays beneath him and grasps at his hips as he bounces and grinds in his lap. when he comes it makes him dizzy, his heart pounding in his throat, warmth tingling down his chest to his toes. it takes him a moment, too lost in the sauce to notice that hollander is still hard but then ilya is quickly rolling them over and swallowing him down the second he realises. later, he showers and thinks of how to get hollander on top of him--bouncing and grinding and rolling those strong hips, flexing those thick thighs, ass jiggling--again.
obviously, the most profound moment of ilya "lost in the sauce" rozanov is at the cottage. post-iloveyous, post-shanewakesilyaupinthemiddleofthenighttoplanthenextdecadeoftheirlivestogether. it's that moment when they're tangled up together in the soft sunlight, rain pitter-pattering on the wide glass windows, shane looking back at ilya so sweetly asking "this is real right" with his big, strong hand gripping at ilya's curls. and i think we can all agree that moment is the first moment they don't use condoms so ilya is trying to answer--to give shane the verbal confirmation he needs--but his entire body is buzzing with sensation at how warm, tight, soft, close shane feels like this. his mind is just drowning in loud tingling pleasure, his body also. all of him honed in on shane, shane, shane. he couldn't think of anything else if he tried. all he can do is nuzzle his nose into shane's pit, smear kisses over his ribs, lap helplessly at shane's nipple, and watch shane beneath him. watch his pretty face as his freckles bunch up, as his big brown eyes water with pleasure, as his cheeks get ruddy and his brows pinch then relax as his beautiful boy sinks into the sensation. and when they're both done, ilya stays tight to shane's back, just stroking up and down the thick muscle of his lover's thigh, kissing at his ribs, enjoying the afterglow. enjoying it the way he's wanted to for so long, with nothing between them and no need to wash away his longing by showering as fast as possible.
maybe not that first summer but after a year or two ilya manages to convince shane to smoke a blunt with him. and shane is terrible at it; he complains that the smoke burns his lungs and he coughs violently and chokes on each inhale, barely taking any in. so, of course, ilya takes over. presses his mouth, damp and hot and full of smoke, to shane's and pushes his tongue past shane's lips. and that's how shane gets high, breathing in the smoke ilya traps behind his teeth. they smoke out on the dock, at sunset. shane says he feels nothing and ilya just hums, says "sure, hollander" and pokes shane's flushed cheeks, laughs at shane's wide pupils, lounges back against the wooden dock with a wicked quirk to his smart mouth. and he feels it. in his limbs, that heavy warm floaty buzzy feeling that makes him kinda feel like sleeping and kinda feel like bursting into a fit of childish giggles. it takes about ten minutes for shane's body to loosen, for him to turn to ilya with heavy, hazy eyes and then crawl over top of ilya, pushing him down into the dock to kiss him all sloppy and demanding and hot. and ilya's had sex high before, made out high before, but suddenly his heart is frantic. shane is heavy in his lap, shirtless and drenched in orange-gold light, freckles stark over his cheeks and shoulders. he's beautiful, his brown eyes turned amber in the sunset, his pouty mouth swollen and dragging heated kiss after heated kiss from ilya's lips. and ilya's heart is pounding, so fucking loud in his ears, he can feel the hectic thumping of it in his throat, in his chest, banging on his ribcage. actually, he's so violently turned on and the adrenaline is pumping so fast he feels sick and he wrenches away with a gasp and feels lightheaded and has to hold off shane who is pouting and whining for more kisses. all the blood in ilya's body has travelled to his dick and all that's left in his brain is a druggy haze of lust and cotton. this is the first time ilya rozanov ever freaks the fuck out on weed -- because his high brain got so turned on he nearly forgot to breathe between kisses. he has to lie flat on the dock breathing in through his mouth and out his nose for twenty minutes before he can get up and go inside.
i think their wedding night they are too drunk and delirious with joy to manage anything more than a sloppy, messy, grinding makeout in bed after everyone leaves. they're both coming in their pants and showering afterwards together and kissing some more and then falling asleep in a heap of tangled limbs. their honeymoon, however, is full of ridiculous, ilya "lost in the sauce" rozanov sex moments. the most notable being after a night out at some club. shane had been just so fucking sweet and hot and joyful all night. dark hair styled nicely, big arms on display in the tight little sheer black t-shirt ilya buys him to wear out to the club, his fingers tucked into ilya's waistband most of the night, just a little possessive and a little clingy. but ilya just has such a nice night. he does shots with a drag queen and meets fun, attractive, queer people. he dances in public with his husband under pulsing neon lights and kisses shane in the corner underneath the speakers throbbing ear-splitting club music. he feels a little trashy and a lot young and infinitely in love with his husband who mostly just bobs his head awkwardly to the music and holds ilya's hand with a besotted look on his handsome face. and when they get in the uber back to the hotel at 4 in the morning shane doesn't even flinch when ilya plasters himself to his side, kisses all over his neck, gropes his chest in the backseat. and when they're finally in the hotel room and stripped naked there's glitter on shane's skin from brushing up against the other bodies on the dancefloor and he's sweaty and he smells a little musky and a little like alcohol and ilya just loves him. loves his husband for coming out with him to a club and indulging everything ilya wanted all night even if he was nervous. loves his husband for the way he'd just had eyes for ilya all night, not even noticing anyone else looking at him, dark eyes never straying from ilya. and they go into the bathroom to shower the night off their bodies but ilya gets distracted looking at shane in the mirror, looking at him standing there all naked and glorious in the soft yellow light, and he can't help but drop to his knees behind shane and pry apart his asscheeks and bury himself there, tongue lapping, pressing, smearing, sliding over shane's hole. and he sucks kisses into the skin, pushes his tongue in, drools over his own chin as he presses his face in deeper. eats shane out for so long that his neck cramps and his knees hurt but he's entirely lost in it. moaning and groaning and whimpering when shane pushes his hips back, when shane reaches back to grab his hair and hold him closer, when shane curses and pleads and whines for more. ilya isn't even thinking of fucking shane--he is enjoying this too much. at some point he started jerking himself off tho and he comes like that, tongue buried in his husband, moaning loudly and dripping saliva down his chin.
ilya has been injured for a week, on IR, out of commission. he's miserable about it. not just because of the hockey--not just bc he is captain and feels like a sack of shit for abandoning his team, to which shane had said "baby, it sucks but it's good it happened now and not later in the season. you'll be back on the ice in time to make sure we still make it to the playoffs"--but also because his injury has prevented him from doing much with his husband. shane has been on a roadie and ilya has been with yuna and david, being dotted on, which is a bit overkill -- it's just a sprained groin not even a severe sprain, the doctor had said it was only grade two and he'd been fine in a few weeks. but before that he hadn't been allowed to do much either -- nothing at all in the bedroom -- and he is miserable. when shane gets back he picks ilya up from his parent's place and anya too and they all go home to their quiet ottawa place. anya runs off to her favourite corner of the yard to reacquaint herself with her favourite pile of dirt in the bushes and shane fusses over ilya on the couch. ilya is NOT sulking at all, not at all bitching and whining like a child. he's just saying that he doesn't need all this fuss hollander, it's fine, please just come here and let me blow you at least. and shane--who is currently been bumped from A to C--is trying to be responsible and telling his husband "no, you will not go on your knees and strain your groin further just to suck me off" and ilya groans and says "okay, i will lie flat and you can sit on my face, do all the work yourself" and, well, shane's dick is a little interested in that. but no, he shakes his head. so ilya pulls out the big guns, he pouts, flutters his thick lashes, looks up at shane with his eyes all pleading and says "i miss you" and shane groans, rubs a hand over his face and stomps away. ilya thinks his tactic has failed but then shane is coming back, dropping lube onto the couch then climbing behind ilya, dragging ilya back to lean his back against shane's chest. and ilya is confused by this turn of events but says nothing as shane kisses at his throat, runs a featherlight touch up and down the ladder of his ribs, the other hand massaging ilya's thick thigh muscle, careful of where ilya's muscle tore. and shane does this for ages, just kissing at ilya's neck, biting at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder, scratching blunt nails over ilya's sides and rubbing his thumb over ilya's nipple. ilya is hard as fuck and wants to squirm away but shane holds him tighter and sucks a bruise into the soft skin behind his ear. eventually he's pushing down ilya's pants and briefs and slicking his hand with lube and slowly, torturously, meanly, stroking ilya's cock in lazy drags. his palm and fingers applying the faintest amount of pressure, dragging over ilya's cock lazily, like he has all the time in the world. and ilya can't fucking do anything about it. shane has one leg clamped over ilya's knee to keep him from moving and has his other hand wrapped firm around ilya's hip. he keeps kissing wet and messy and biting at ilya's throat. keeps stroking just on this side of too little. he maybe spends half an hour like that, nosing at ilya's jawline, murmuring softly to him saying "baby, baby, shh, just like this" and ilya is going fuzzy at the edges. forgetting all about being annoyed abt being on IR, forgetting all about feeling lazy and useless. "let me take care of you, you do so much, work so hard," shane sighs "just enjoy it" and ilya, strangely, does. the world's slowest, lightest, sweetest handjob reducing him to a puddle of goo melted between shane's thighs. when ilya eventually comes it's with a soft whimper and then shane is cleaning up his tummy and kissing his forehead and making him a nice meal and getting him an icepack for his groin.
their first wedding anniversary is probably the most profound moment of ilya "lost in the sauce" rozanov. it's the anniversary of their pikelet wedding -- during the season and not a public date that their team, friends, or the wider hockey world is aware of. it's just a date for them. the day ruby and jade married them with children's plastic rings in stupid costumes. ilya doesn't really tell shane in the lead up to it that he has a plan -- and he doesn't know that shane has one either -- so they're both going to practice on the day and acting coy when asked abt their plans for the evening. (they both made dinner reservations at the same spot where they had their first date post telling Crowell to fuck himself). and so they get home after practice and shane says -- before ilya gets a chance -- "i booked us a dinner for tonight, since it's our anniversary" and ilya is briefly overcome by joy, elation, absolute ridiculous gooey sappy emotion before he says, outloud "fuck!" and shane is blinking like ??? and ilya says "nothing, lyubimy, nothing" and then "i am excited" even though internally he is like fuckfuckfuckmyplans but then they park outside the resturant and he bursts into laughter and shane is again like ??? and ilya explains through hysterical bursts of laughter that he booked the same place and when they get inside they ask to see which table each reservation had assigned to it then pick the best one -- shane's table because he remembered the exact table they sat at that first time. and they eat a beautiful dinner together, without any nonsense from paps or fans, ankles tangled under the table, smiling stupidly at each other over the massive chicken parmesan ilya ordered. and when they get home they kiss all the way from the front door to the bedroom, hands wandering all over, careful, tender touches. and we all know ilya "loverboy" rozanov loves to make love to his husband missionary so shane is on his back with his legs around ilya's hips and his ankles hooked around the small of ilya's back and their fingers are tangled above shane's head on the mattress and their foreheads are pressed together as they breathe into each other's mouths just moving slow slow slow. and ilya gets lost in it. the slow rhythm of their bodies, the wet drag of their mouths, the press of shane's slick tongue, their noses rubbing, their foreheads touching, lips smudging and panting together. it's probably a good half hour of just slow rocking, quiet moans, soft sighs, until ilya picks up the pace, presses in harder, and sends them both over the edge. and ilya fades out for a bit, laying on top of shane's chest, ear pressed to shane's heart, listening to its steady pulse. shane's arms around him, caressing and rubbing his spine. and maybe he rolls shane onto his side and slides back into him and fucks him again twenty minutes later, fingers locked around shane's hip, pulling him tighter, burying growls and whimpers in shane's neck, nipping at his earlobe. he starts crying at some point, but shane is too, though he thinks shane's tears are from pleasure. ilya is just happy and sad all in one confusing tumble. both so joyful he got this and so scared that there had been a moment where he might not have gotten it. and he comes again, rutting deep into his husband's body, clutching him close, wiping his tears away by dragging his cheeks over the wings of shane's shoulder blades. and after, shane rolls over, grabs either side of his face, kisses him all over, forehead and brows and eyelids and mouth and nose and cheeks and chin, and murmurs "love you so much, husband" and ilya garbles something back along that same sentiment and bites at shane's chin. he wants to eat him, devour him whole, swallow him. it's ashame they can't be one being. but this closeness will do.
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"Oh shit,” Shane muttered as he watched LaPointe get obviously cross checked. Luckily, the whistle followed.
“Ok, ok, we got this. Power play line one, let’s go!” Coach called. Shane glanced at Ilya who was grinning. They scrambled over the boards. The crowd was on their feet, always excited when Shane and Ilya took the ice together.
Ilya bent for the faceoff. Shane was on his left, Troy on his right. The ref dropped the puck and it was on. Ilya won the faceoff. He didn’t even have to look to know Shane was skating even with him, Troy a little ahead as the opposing defense came toward them. Their line moved in perfect harmony, as if the other team wasn’t even there.
Ilya passed to Troy, who got shoved into the boards but was able to move the puck forward into their zone. Ilya picked it up again as Shane got into position. The other defenseman was even with Shane so he passed back to Ilya, who took a shot, which clanged off of the goal post. Shane was right there to tap it in while the goalie’s attention was on Troy and Ilya. They both skated into Shane, hugging him roughly as the siren sounded. Shane grinned as they switched lines for the latter minute of the power play.
Ottawa won the game, and the reporters followed them back to the locker room. “Ilya, you had a goal and two assists tonight. How does the win feel?”
Ilya grinned as his eyes sought Shane. “Every win feels fantastic.”
“Your two assists led to goals by-”
“My husband, yes,” he said, winking at the reporter. “I know. I was there.”
The reporter chuckled, perhaps unsure if Ilya was making fun of her or not. “Have you noticed that Ottawa draws fewer penalties because other teams-”
“Can’t handle us on the ice together? We have noticed this,” Ilya said amused.
“And what do you think of that?”
Ilya glanced up as Shane joined him. His hair was sticking up from his helmet and his face was flushed. Ilya wanted to bite him. But he kept it together in front of the reporter. Instead, he slung an arm around Shane and turned back to her. “If there are fewer penalties, still leads to more points for us.”
Thank you for the tags, @brandileigh2003 , @sorealis, @shunstanpike! My main WIP is for the R/S Big Bang, which means it's a secret, but I'll share a bit of something else I wrote recently:
A soft knock at the door. Remus answered, finding himself face to face with a bedraggled Sirius. “He’s back, Moony.”
“Who?”
“Voldemort. He’s back. Harry saw him.”
Sirius sat down at the table. Remus waved his wand at the refrigerator. Bread, cheese and meat came flying out. As Sirius talked, Remus fixed him a thick sandwich, a cup of tea.
“So what do we do now?” Remus asked, sitting down across from Sirius. Sirius looked tired, pale, worried.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Remus took his hand. “We’ll get through it together. We always have. Now eat. You’ll feel better.”
No pressure tags for @barkingatthemooninsteadofwriting @missmoonfrost @mikibou @ixiedust-writes @lena-hills @mrsmungus @oceangirl24
(In which Shane and Ilya meet in Vermont during Ilya's last year in Boston)
Snippet:
The small jazz combo was playing to a mostly empty lounge. Shane felt the music wash over him. This music was much more mellow than music in a club, or whatever the guys played in the locker room. It didn’t set his teeth on edge or make him feel overstimulated, which he appreciated. The song didn’t really have a beat and it sounded plaintive, like the sax was longing to be reunited with its long lost love…
“Want to dance?” he asked quietly before he could think about it too much. Ilya’s eyebrows went up in surprise. Shane almost never wanted to dance.
“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” Ilya teased, already sliding to the end of the booth.
“If you’re going to make a big deal-”
“No, you can’t take it back now, Hollander…you asked me to dance.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Ilya rolled his eyes good naturedly and held out his hand, pulling Shane out of the booth. “Yes. I want to dance with you.”
(I saw a a couple of posts about Hollanov crashing when the season was over so here's my two cents)
Yuna checked her phone again, no new texts or voice messages. “I’m going to take that.” David said, looking over at her from where he was stacking glasses in the cupboard. “They just got in this morning. They’re probably exhausted.”
She digested her husband’s words and nodded. Of course Shane and Ilya were exhausted. The Centaurs had gotten knocked out of the semi finals only two days before. They’d fought hard, but it just didn’t happen this year. But they usually let her know that they’d gotten to their cottage safely. What if something happened?
“I’m going to check on them,” she said.
David rolled his eyes affectionately at her. “Remember what happened last time you didn’t text first?”
Her face heated at the memory but she shook it off. Instead, she kissed David’s cheek and got into her car to drive the short distance to the other cottage.
Shane’s SUV was in the driveway when she got there, so she knew they at least made it there. The front door was unlocked, so she poked her head in and was immediately greeted by Anya, who barked and wagged her tail expectantly. “Hi pretty girl,” she said, leaning down and scratching her ears. “Do you need to go out? Where are your dads?”
The house was quiet. She went up to Shane and Ilya’s room with Anya at her heels. She found them fast asleep, tangled together in their bed. She breathed a sigh of relief as she listened to them snore softly. Anya made a move to run into their room but Yuna caught her and coaxed her outside. She found a ball and threw it to the enthusiastic dog.
The day was starting to heat up, but it was tranquil out on the lake. Birds and bugs called to each other as the late morning light glinted off the water. Anya brought the ball back, proud of herself. Yuna threw it again.
Once Anya was tired and panting, she brought her back inside and refilled her water bowl. Before she left, she went back upstairs with a couple of water bottles to leave on their nightstands. Shane and Ilya had rolled away from each other but were still touching. Shane’s face was buried in his pillow but he had an arm draped across Ilya’s chest. Ilya was sprawled on his back, with one his legs hooked around Shane’s. The sheet and blanket were on the floor, so she picked them up and covered them gently. Neither of them were wearing shirts; it looked as though they’d both stripped down to their underwear as soon as they arrived and fell into bed.
They both had yellowing bruises on their sides and legs. That last series was brutal. She knew Bood had his arm in a sling and Troy had a black eye when the series ended. Yuna made her way downstairs, leaving a note on the counter, letting them know she’d let Anya out and to call when they woke up.
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just thinking about how sirius was the only person harry ever felt comfortable venting to. about his scar hurting, about the first task and the dragons, about how ron wasn't speaking to him, about how nobody believed him. because harry knew that sirius listened, sirius cared about his feelings just as much as he cared about his safety.
thinking about how harry sent a pages long letter after the first task, explaining in detail how he defeated the dragon. around sirius, harry could act like the child he really was.
Stuck at a job he doesn't know how to quit and in a house where the silence takes up too much space, Remus Lupin has forgotten that there could be something better. Then, at the bottom of a takeaway receipt, six little words appear. Through late-night deliveries and chocolate milkshakes, Remus starts to remember that he's allowed to want more. And maybe he's even capable of being wanted in return.
Customer request: Please send your cutest delivery person.
wolfstar | explicit | 15k | written for moony's midlife crisis fest 2026
