nightstand - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 510 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
Shane is panicking.
It’s so fucking stupid that he’s panicking. But he is. And the worst part is, he knows it’s only a matter of time before Ilya notices it.
It’s just…there are things in Ilya’s house that weren’t there before. Lens wipes in his nightstand. Face wash in his bathroom. Healthy food in his fridge.
All things that Ilya Rozanov does not use.
And Shane’s terrible, ruminating brain can’t help but wonder…is it for him? Or left there, by someone else.
“Hollander, you think so loud I cannot hear TV.”
Yep. There it is. Fuck Ilya for being so damn perceptive.
But really, they only have so much time together, and he desperately needs to know the answer, so he decides to be honest. Or…to at least attempt honesty.
“When we said…at the cottage…that we were being honest. Does that still apply?” he asks hesitantly, turning a bit on the couch to face his boyfriend of two months and look him in the eye.
Ilya mutes the TV. “Yes…” he answers, eyes narrowing a little. “I think, is something for always now. We’re done hiding how we feel, yes?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just, um…you have some new things here. At your place. I couldn’t help but…notice,” Shane grinds out, trying to be brave even as his heart is hammering.
Ilya looks stricken. “You do not like new couch?”
Shane can’t help but smile at that. “No! I actually…I do! It’s great!” Because he does like the new couch, which Ilya had sent pictures of to him before buying. It’s very comfortable and spacious and it makes him feel oddly warm, to know that he helped pick it out. Like he has some sort of claim over this place. “No, um…I just noticed, like…there’s shampoo in the shower, for example. And it’s not yours.”
Ilya blinks. “Yes.”
“And in the bathroom, you have some facewash. But you told me you just use soap. Which is still terrifying, by the way.”
Ilya nods, eyebrows furrowing. “Da, yes. What is wrong with this, though?”
So he has to spell it out. “I thought, maybe….those things might be…left here. By…other people.”
The expression on Ilya’s face morphs from confusion, to sock, to soft understanding. “Shane. Sweetheart. I buy them for you.”
Relief. Utter relief washes over him as he relaxes back into the couch. “Oh,” he murmurs, pressing his lips together to stop himself from smiling like an idiot.
But Ilya looks concerned. “We say ‘boyfriends,’ I thought you knew….I want nobody else. Did you…?”
“No! No, I didn’t. I just…We’d never said, so I was nervous that you,” Shane explains, blushing a bit, eyes on his hands.
Ilya’s touch on his cheek is soft. “Only you, malysh. I only think of you.”
He meets his eyes again, smiling as Ilya moves to press their lips together. “Alright.”
Some time later, after their bodies are sated and the stickiness is washed from their skin, they lay naked in Ilya’s bed. “Now…can we talk about your skincare routine?” Shane asks, glaring at Ilya.
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hello lovely, i hope you’re well. would you ever write a part two to Two Lines where it’s the boys being really supportive and soft during the pregnancy? like maybe reader’s super tired or insecure with how her body’s changing or something. i love your Hollanov fics more than life itself 😩
Still Ours
Pairing: Ilya Rozanov x Reader x Shane Hollander
Word Count: 884
Request open!
Ilya Rozanov Playlist
Ilya Rozanov Imagines ( I’ve added all my Ilya fics on Wattpad, so if you’d like to read more, feel free to check them out! I’ll leave the link here 💗)
You didn’t expect the tiredness to feel like this.
It’s not just being sleepy. It’s bone-deep, the kind that makes lifting your arms feel optional and standing for too long feel like a bad decision. You’re curled on the couch with a blanket half-slipped off your legs, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended you.
Shane notices first.
He always does.
“You haven’t moved in a while,” he says carefully, setting his phone down.
“I moved,” you reply weakly. “Earlier.”
Ilya looks over from the kitchen, brows knitting together. “Earlier when?”
“…This morning.”
They exchange a look.
“That’s not ideal,” Shane says gently.
“I’m fine,” you insist, even though your voice doesn’t really have the energy to back that up.
Ilya crosses the room in a few long steps and crouches in front of you. “Are you in pain?”
“No,” you say quickly. “Just… heavy.”
He nods like that makes sense. “Tired-heavy or sad-heavy?”
You hesitate. That’s answer enough.
Shane shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Talk to us.”
You swallow. “I feel useless.”
Both of them react immediately.
Shane’s jaw tightens. “Don’t.”
Ilya’s voice is softer but firm. “You are not.”
“I know,” you say, eyes burning. “Logically. But I can’t do anything without needing to sit down. I’m exhausted all the time. I don’t even recognize my body anymore.”
Your hand drifts to your stomach without thinking.
“I look different,” you continue quietly. “And I know that’s supposed to be… good. Or exciting. But sometimes I just feel,”
“Disconnected?” Shane offers.
You nod. “Yeah.”
Ilya reaches out slowly, like he’s giving you space to pull away if you want. When you don’t, he rests his hand over yours.
“Your body is doing something very big,” he says. “It will feel strange.”
“That doesn’t make it easier,” you whisper.
“No,” he agrees. “But it makes it understandable.”
Shane leans in, elbows on his knees. “Do you know what I see?”
You sniff. “Probably someone who hasn’t showered.”
He snorts. “I see someone growing a whole person while being unfairly hard on herself.”
You huff a weak laugh. “You’re biased.”
“Extremely,” he says. “But I’m also right.”
Ilya squeezes your hand gently. “You are allowed to rest.”
You shake your head. “I feel like I’m letting you down.”
That makes Shane go very still.
“You could never,” he says quietly.
“I don’t mean emotionally,” you rush. “I mean,I don’t do as much. I sleep more. I complain. I,”
“You exist,” Ilya interrupts. “That is enough.”
You look at him, surprised.
He meets your gaze steadily. “You are not here to perform. You are here because we love you.”
Your chest tightens.
Shane nods. “This isn’t a transaction. You don’t owe us productivity.”
You laugh shakily. “Tell my brain that.”
Ilya shifts closer until his shoulder presses against yours. “We will tell it every day if we have to.”
Silence settles, warm and full.
After a moment, you whisper, “I’m scared you’ll stop finding me attractive.”
Shane’s head snaps up. “Hey.”
Ilya’s expression darkens,not angry, but protective. “Why would you think that?”
You shrug, embarrassed. “My body’s changing so fast. I don’t look like me.”
Shane reaches out and cups your cheek. “You look like you.”
“But softer,” Ilya adds quietly. “And strong in a new way.”
You blink. “You really think that?”
“Yes,” they say together.
Shane smiles gently. “And for the record? You’re still very hot.”
You laugh despite yourself. “That’s not comforting.”
“It’s true,” he insists.
Ilya leans in and presses a kiss to your temple. “You are still ours. Every version.”
Your eyes fill.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
“For what?” Shane asks.
“For being like this.”
Ilya exhales softly. “This is you being human.”
“And pregnant,” Shane adds. “Which is kind of a big deal.”
You let yourself lean into them then, fully. Shane wraps an arm around your shoulders while Ilya adjusts the blanket, tucking it up more securely.
“Can we just… stay like this?” you ask.
“Yes,” Shane says immediately.
Ilya nods. “You don’t need to go anywhere.”
Minutes pass. Maybe more. Time feels softer lately.
Eventually, Shane murmurs, “Did you eat?”
You groan. “I don’t want to.”
Ilya hums thoughtfully. “Soup.”
You peek up at him. “You always say soup.”
“Soup is safe,” he replies seriously.
Shane grins. “He’s not wrong.”
“I don’t want to get up,” you admit.
“Good,” Shane says. “You’re not.”
Ilya stands. “I will bring soup.”
“You don’t have to,”
“I want to,” he says simply.
When he returns, Shane feeds you slowly, patient, like there’s nowhere else he needs to be. Ilya sits close, hand resting warm and steady on your thigh.
“You know,” Shane says quietly, “you don’t have to love every part of this.”
“I don’t?” you ask.
“No,” he says. “You just have to get through it. We’ll love it enough for all three of us.”
Ilya nods. “We have plenty.”
You rest your head against Shane’s shoulder, tears threatening again , but softer this time.
“I don’t feel alone,” you whisper.
“Good,” Ilya murmurs. “Because you’re not.”
Shane presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Never.”
You close your eyes, exhaustion finally giving way to rest.
it is such an interesting phenomenon that can be noticed across platforms (here, on tiktok, in the cesspool of twitter too, probably) where the minute the amount of sex scenes in heated rivalry had slightly dropped, people started talking shit about how now it’s the REAL INTIMACY that matters. like. there’s a good point to be made here where yeah, they had to start talking at one point instead of just fucking, so the plot could move forward lol. and i do think there’s some benefit of the doubt to be had here where i guess it’s difficult to express that properly. but to act like shane and ilya’s whole development as individuals who fell in love with each other (and grew separately, too) through sex, has become invalid because… what? because sex isn’t real intimacy? because building a relationship and seeking physical and emotional connection through sex is something to be looked down on? because (more or less) casually fucking throughout the years isn’t ‘pure’ in heteronormative society? or is it because using sex as a form of coping mechanism is icky? like. kind of the whole point here’s that they didn’t really know each other when they first started hooking up. they learned about each other as people because of sex, which was their fist point of connection and stayed one of the most important aspects of their relationship while other parts of it grew, too. why would you want to devalue that. why would you want to strip that story from one of its main foundations. i think the show itself made it pretty clear that it isn’t that sex somehow stopped being important to them once they learned they could open up to each other in other ways, too. instead, in a very limited time, they showed that relationships develop and change, sure, but sex was, is, and will be something that brings them together, is their shared language, and a way of expressing themselves and their love for each other. and it’s never been a bad thing.
“It’s nice to meet you, Shane,” Dr. Lee said, shaking his hand as he entered her office.
“The same to you,” Shane replied. He looked around nervously. There was a sofa and a chair on one side of the office with another chair facing them.
Dr. Lee watched him for a moment, then said, “You can make yourself comfortable,” she said, gesturing toward the chair and the sofa.
Shane nodded, choosing the sofa. He sat down, taking off his jacket and ball cap. She took the seat across from him. They sat in silence for few minutes before Dr. Lee said, “I can see you’re nervous. Can you tell me about that?”
Shane glanced at her and ran his hand over his face. He knew why he was here. He just didn’t know where to start. “I, um…yeah, I’m nervous.”
“It’s natural to be nervous. We’re new to each other…you said in your email that you’ve never tried therapy before. We’ll navigate this together, alright?” Dr. Lee’s voice was soothing, Shane noticed, and he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.
“Ok,” he said, making an effort to look at her and not his hands. “I mean…this last year has been… a lot. And my husband goes to therapy and it’s really helped him so I thought maybe it would help me too.” Dr. Lee nodded encouragingly as she took notes.
***
Shane felt wrung out when he left Dr. Lee’s office. He didn’t think he’d ever talked about himself that much. Or maybe he just never talked that much period. When he pulled into the garage, he was relieved that Ilya’s SUV was there. He’d gone to work out at the team gym with Troy, and Shane hadn’t been sure he’d be home.
He heard the tv when he came into the house and then the telltale clicking of Anya’s nails on the floor as she came to find him. He smiled, crouching down to scratch her ears. She wagged her tail at him, then turned to go back into the rest of the house. Shane followed her into the living room, where she leaped onto the sofa, into Ilya’s lap. Ilya twisted around, reaching out his hand when he saw Shane. He shifted to make room on the couch. Shane sank down next to him heavily and Ilya looked at him critically.
“How was it?”
Shane bit his lip, unsure that he could express himself at the moment. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked, wrapping an arm around Shane’s shoulders and pulling him close.
“I do…but can we talk later?” Shane asked, aware of how small his voice sounded. Any more words would have to wait.
Ilya pressed a kiss to his temple. “Of course.”
Shane felt himself start to settle. He wasn’t watching whatever was on the tv, he was listening to Ilya’s heart and enjoying the way Ilya was petting his hair. He turned the tv off and they sat in silence for a while.
“My first session was really hard,” Ilya said quietly.
Shane sat up a little and searched his husband’s eyes. “I’m sorry you went through that alone. I should have been here.”
Ilya shrugged. “Maybe yes, but maybe I had to do it alone first. To see if I could do it.”
Summary: Ilya struggles with some mental health stuff on a break in the season and is determined to hide it
Chapter 1/12
Ilya Rozanov had learned a long time ago how to look like he was fine.
Not “healthy,” exactly. Not “rested” or “bright”, but fine in the way people accepted without any questions. The kind of fine that ended conversations before they could start.
It was easier that way.
So when he stepped off the plane and saw Shane waiting near the terminal exit, leaning casually against a pillar like he had all the time in the world, Ilya adjusted his expression automatically. Smoothed it into something neutral. Tired, yes, he had been traveling, but nothing beyond that.
Shane’s eyes found him immediately.
They always did.
“Hey,” Shane said, like Ilya hadn’t crossed a country after a rough series of away games with the Centaurs to get here, like it was just another afternoon and not something carefully carved out of a season’s break.
Ilya forced a small smile. “Hey.”
Shane took his bag before Ilya could offer it, because he always did that too. No comment, no hesitation. Just a quiet assumption that Ilya would allow it.
Ilya did.
“Traffic’s bad, so, should be a few hours before we get there.” Shane said as they walked. “My mom made too much food. Again. So I’m sure you’ll enjoy.”
That pulled something faintly real from Ilya’s chest. Not quite a laugh. Not quite anything. “That sounds like her.”
“It is her,” Shane corrected, and there was warmth in it, a soft, familiar, grounding in a way Ilya didn’t want to lean on too much right now.
Because leaning meant noticing.
And noticing meant risk.
The drive to Shane and Yuna’s place blurred in and out of awareness. Ilya watched city lines pass through the window. His reflection sat faintly over them, superimposed like a ghost he didn’t quite recognize.
Shane didn’t push conversation. That was another thing about him. He never filled silence just to fill it. He let it exist.
Ilya used to find that comforting.
Now it made it easier to think.
Too much.
At a red light, Shane glanced at him. Not long. Just enough.
“You look tired,” he said.
It wasn’t an accusation. It never was with Shane. That was almost worse.
“I’m fine,” Ilya said automatically.
Shane’s eyes held for a second longer than necessary.
Then he nodded. “Long flight.”
The conversation moved on.
Ilya exhaled quietly.
Fine worked. It always worked.
⸻
The house smelled like food the moment they walked in.
Something warm. Something rich. Something that made Ilya realize, distantly, that he hadn’t eaten in… longer than he should have.
That thought arrived without urgency. Just a fact, floating by. That’s how all his thoughts came when he was like this. Like waves ebbing and flowing. Coming and going without much effort or change.
Yuna appeared from the kitchen almost immediately, wiping her hands on a towel. Her face lit up when she saw him.
“Ilya,” she said, like she hadn’t already texted Shane three times about when they’d arrive. “You made it.”
“I did,” he said, polite.
She stepped forward and hugged him before he could fully prepare for it. It was brief, firm, uncomplicated. Ilya returned it after half a second of hesitation.
Yuna always hugged like she was anchoring something.
“You look exhausted,” she added, pulling back.
There it was again.
Ilya kept his expression steady. “Travel.”
“Mm.” She didn’t argue. Just studied him for a second too long before stepping aside. “Food’s almost ready.”
Shane set Ilya’s bag down by the stairs.
“I can take that up,” Ilya said.
“It’s fine.”
Of course it was.
David appeared a moment later, already talking before he fully entered the room. “Ilya! Good to see you, kid.”
Kid.
Ilya nodded politely. “David.”
“Shane said you’ve been busy,” David continued, clapping him on the shoulder. “Season treating you alright?”
“Yes,” Ilya said.
A pause.
Then, because it was expected: “Just tired.”
David nodded like that explained everything in the universe. “Yeah, yeah. Happens to all of you. Hockey schedules are insane.”
Shane moved slightly closer to Ilya’s side. Not obvious. Just present.
Ilya noticed.
He always noticed Shane.
Dinner happened in pieces after that. Movement, conversation, plates being set down and passed around. The house felt full in a way Ilya couldn’t quite process yet. Warmth without demand. Noise without pressure.
He should have felt better.
He didn’t know if he did.
Food appeared in front of him. Too much. Always too much when David and Yuna cooked.
“I can’t eat all that,” Ilya said lightly, out of character for him.
Shane, beside him, said nothing, but gave him a connected, questioning glance.
Ilya took a small portion anyway.
The conversation flowed around him. David talking about something at work. Yuna asking Shane about travel plans. Shane answering calmly, easily.
Ilya followed it when he could.
When he couldn’t, he just listened.
His appetite didn’t arrive.
It didn’t really matter. He ate anyway. Slow. Careful. Mechanical.
Shane’s hand brushed his wrist once under the table.
Not a squeeze. Not a signal.
Just contact.
Ilya’s fingers twitched slightly in response before he could stop them.
Shane didn’t say anything.
But his eyes shifted to Ilya’s plate for half a second.
Then away.
⸻
Later, when dishes were being cleared, Ilya stood a little too quickly.
The room tilted, black spots dancing around his vision, not dramatically but just enough that he had to steady himself on the chair.
“I’m fine,” he said again, before anyone could ask.
No one had asked.
Yuna looked up briefly. “Long flight really hit you, huh?”
“Yes,” Ilya repeated.
Shane was watching him now.
Not openly. Not in a way anyone else would notice.
But Ilya could feel it.
Always.
“I’ll just—” Ilya gestured vaguely toward the stairs. “Rest a bit.”
“Of course,” Yuna said immediately. “Guest room’s ready.”
“I’ll take him,” Shane added, almost at the same time.
David didn’t comment. Just kept drying a plate.
Too normal. Everything was too normal.
Shane picked up Ilya’s bag again.
“I can—” Ilya started.
“I know,” Shane interrupted gently.
Not sharp. Not firm.
Just certain.
So Ilya stopped talking.
They went upstairs in silence.
⸻
The guest room was already prepared in a way that felt like Yuna had anticipated every possible version of exhaustion. Clean sheets. Dim lighting. Photos of a chubby baby Shane littering the walls. A folded blanket at the foot of the bed.
Shane set the bag down and closed the door behind them.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
This was the part Ilya hated.
The quiet after pretending.
Shane leaned against the dresser, arms loosely crossed.
“You didn’t sleep on the plane,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
“I slept,” Ilya said.
Shane’s expression didn’t change.
A beat passed.
“Ilya,” Shane said, softer now.
That did something unpleasant in Ilya’s chest. Not pain. Not quite. Just pressure.
“I’m fine,” Ilya repeated, slower this time.
Shane didn’t move.
“I know you’re trying to be,” he said.
Silence.
Ilya looked away first.
“I’m just tired,” he said again, but it came out weaker than he wanted.
Shane pushed off the dresser slightly, then stopped. Like he’d decided against closing the distance.
“Okay,” Shane said.
That wasn’t agreement.
It was restraint.
Ilya sat on the edge of the bed because standing suddenly felt like too much effort to justify.
“I don’t want them worrying,” he added, quieter.
“I know,” Shane said again.
And then, after a pause:
“They’re not.”
Ilya frowned slightly. “They were looking at me.”
“They were being polite,” Shane corrected.
That was Shane’s voice now. The one that organized reality into something survivable.
Ilya didn’t answer.
Shane walked closer, then stopped at a distance that felt deliberate.
“I’m not going to tell them anything you don’t want me to,” he said.
Relief flickered in Ilya’s eyes, immediate, automatic.
Then something else followed it.
Because Shane continued.
“But I also need you to stop telling me you’re fine when you’re not.”
Ilya went still.
The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.
Shane wasn’t accusing him. He never accused. That wasn’t his way.
It made it worse.
“I am fine,” Ilya said anyway, because he didn’t know how not to.
Shane exhaled slowly through his nose.
A controlled sound. Measured.
“Ilya,” he said again.
And this time, it wasn’t a request for truth.
It was a reminder that Shane already had it.
That landed differently.
Ilya stared at the floor.
His hands were steady. That mattered. He focused on that.
“I just need to sleep,” he said.
Shane nodded once.
“Okay,” he said again.
But this time, there was something different underneath it.
A decision not yet spoken aloud.
Shane reached for the door.
“I’ll bring you water,” he added.
“I don’t need—”
“I know,” Shane said softly, and left anyway.
The door clicked shut.
Ilya stayed sitting on the edge of the bed.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
And for the first time since he arrived, he wasn’t entirely sure he was doing a good job of being fine.
More chapters incoming and also other stuff coming on my ao3
Link to my ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletSentiments
Requests are open for fics for any of the fandoms in my pinned post so message an idea for a fic anytime and I’ll respond soon as I can
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i made the gay hockey show gayer and u can all thank rae and karfy for once again encouraging my madness 😘
Rose had been to hundreds of black tie galas and benefits since her rise to fame, but it was her first time going as a plus one for Shane Hollander.
Shane looked stiff and uncomfortable in his tuxedo, as he always did when he was expected to be in formalwear, but he still smiled at Rose, told her she looked beautiful, led her inside on his arm. He was a model boyfriend, for all intents and purposes. Him not always being able to get hard was, at most, a minor inconvenience.
They were at the bar when Rose spotted another familiar hockey player across the crowded room -- Ilya Rozanov, accompanied by his own date. They made a striking couple; he was tall, broad, pale, with neatly arranged tawny curls. She was equally tall, but lithe and dark, with tight coils of hair spilling out from an updo. They were both dressed all in black and standing side by side in silence, seemingly cataloguing their surroundings.
When the woman's eyes landed on Rose, then flicked to where Shane was leaned against the bar, she tapped Ilya on the shoulder. He followed her gaze to Shane, and Rose watched his jaw clench. He turned and muttered something to his date, and she shook her head in response.
All Rose really knew about Ilya was that he was a fantastic player, a bit of an asshole, and was theoretically her boyfriend's rival. Shane never talked about him though -- actively avoided the subject when it came up. And having been subject to several media-driven "rivalries" of her own, Rose doubted it was as serious as anyone said it was.
"Here you go," Shane murmured, holding out a bottle of beer. In his other hand, he held a glass of what appeared to be a Shirley Temple.
She accepted the offer and nodded across the room to where Ilya and the woman seemed to be in a heated argument. "Did you want to go say hi to Ilya?"
Shane looked in the direction she gestured and his expression soured for the briefest moment before smoothing into something flat and expressionless. "Sure," he said tightly. He held out his free hand, and gripped hers tightly as he led the way.
Ilya saw them coming first, and his mouth snapped shut as they drew near, cutting himself off midsentence. The woman beside him finished her sentence, the melodic Russian words offset by the sharpness of her tone, before catching sight of them. She looked down at their joined hands, then up at Rose. One thick, dark eyebrow lifted, and her lips twisted into an oddly curious expression. Rose felt herself waver under the woman's gaze.
"Mister Hollander," Ilya drawled, dipping into a mocking bow. He straightened and wrapped one arm around his date's waist. His other hand held a tumbler of what appeared to be straight vodka.
"Rozanov," Shane grunted. His hand tightened around Rose's. "Who's your...friend?"
"Svetlana," the woman said, before Ilya could get a word out. She handed her champagne flute to Ilya, who grumbled something in Russian as he tried to maneuver both glasses with one hand. She didn't seem to notice his struggle as she extended a long, elegantly manicured hand to Shane. "Just friends. Don't let him tell you lies."
Ilya hissed something to her, but a placid smile remained fixed on her face as she turned to Rose. "Rose Landry, yes?"
Rose liked how her name sounded in Svetlana's accent. It had been shaped into something more illustrious than it ever was when she said it. It took her a beat to catch up, to free her hand from Shane's grasp and extend it. "Yeah - yes. Sorry. Lovely to meet you."
"You are lovely," Svetlana said smoothly, her grin widening as their hands met. "How did Hollander get so lucky?"
An attempt at a polite laugh came out as something stuttered and strangled, and Rose swallowed harshly before trying to form full words. "I like to think I'm the lucky one," she managed.
Svetlana's eyes narrowed. They were deep brown, framed by thick lashes, and accented with shimmering eyeshadow. "Do not diminish yourself. You could do better."
Rose didn't know what to say to that, but when she turned to Shane for a reaction, maybe some support, she found him locked in a silent staring contest with Ilya. Shane's eyes blazed with a heat that she hadn't seen in him before, and Ilya matched him easily. She turned back to Svetlana. "I'm not," she tried. "He's wonderful."
Svetlana looked pointedly between the two men, then back to Rose. "Oh, yes," she drawled. "He seems very taken with you."
A 'loss for words' couldn't fully describe the disastrous tangle that Rose found her mind in, but she didn't get the chance to respond. Svetlana reached back to where Ilya had both their glasses in a claw grip and plucked hers free. He didn't even look over as she tipped it back, draining it one go.
"I need a drink," she said to Rose, waving the empty glass. "Come on."
"But-" Rose glanced at Shane again, whose eyes flicked back to her, unseeing, before returning to Ilya. "...Okay."
Svetlana's hand was markedly different from Shane’s; soft where his was calloused, slim where his was broad. Their hands fit neatly together, and Rose found herself staring at them as she let herself be walked back to the bar. "They need to talk," Svetlana explained, turning over her shoulder to address Rose as they walked. "And it doesn't involve either of us, so I don't see why we should be wasting our night as arm candy."
Rose simply nodded in response. Then she was sitting at a barstool, Svetlana on the one next to her. Her legs were crossed, and the slit in her dress revealed a well-toned thigh that Rose was having a difficult time looking away from. Whatever she was feeling was starting to feel uncomfortably akin to attraction.
"So Rose," Svetlana said, leaning one elbow on the bar. "Tell me about yourself. I want to know everything."
And Rose found that, even as her boyfriend disappeared down a hallway with Ilya in her peripheral, she wanted nothing more than to tell Svetlana everything and more.
Sort of RE your wag post but another thing I've noticed is that I've come across multiple fics where the Metros/Voyageurs are still largely homophobic/bigoted/etc... but then their wags are super liberal and accepting. And it's like. Okay. These are generally fics where hollonov have some kind of lighthearted friendship with the wags, so I understand why that dynamic suits the mood the writer is going for. But at the same time I'm like. We understand that women can and do perpetuate bigotry, yes? Can we acknowledge that it is possible and even likely that a woman who is willing to be in a committed relationship with a bigoted man could be complicit in or actively support that bigotry? There's sometimes a reference to these men being bad/misogynistic partners, but there's never any further interrogation of those implications. It does start to feel like it's leaning into this worldview where women (and especially women coded as particularly maternal) are just 'inherently' good and nurturing and enlightened, and no thought is put into the interiority of these women or why they are choosing to remain with these men. And like it's not even that I think it's impossible that a woman would stay with a man whose politics she took issue with, it's just that there can be no acknowledgement of the complicated factors that might drive that decision when these women are not being painted as full characters, but just exist in the background as accessories to the narrative.
this this this exactly this!!!!! i'm a little nervous of treading on bad fandom ettiquette here, so disclaimer that i love and appreciate fic so much and don't mean to like harsh anyone's vibe too badly. not calling anyone a misogynist at all, just expressing personal wist
but yeah, to me the choice to contrast the Evil Homophobic Voyageurs with their Perfect Hyper-Woke Tells-Us-She-Hates-Her-Boyfriend-So-We-Know-She's-A-Good-One partners is not my favorite one. especially since people often write the voyageurs not just as homophobes, but violent ones in a career that empowers them to act on their anger. a violent homophobe's wife is either also a violent homophobe or has some interesting justifications for her choices going on, that i'd like to hear more about.
i'm not saying people like need to write these characters with interiority, obviously the point of most hollanov fanfic is getting that particular version of shane and ilya from point A to point Z, and people are writing this shit for free and for fun. but like it is to me the yaoi equivalent of the sexy lamp, the foam finger if you will. just like a flat vaguely encouraging positive sentiment.
sorry maybe that's a bit harsh. WAG friendship fics are good fun, and can be a cute womens-club-bathroom-esque way for them to find community. i'm just team Its Also Fun To Write Out Your Female Characters And Slash Fiction Should Do It More 2026.
“No biting this time,” Shane warns, a finger held up to Ilya’s lips. “I’m tired of constantly applying that gross vampire ointment.” he explains, making the other man smirk. “If I don't get to bite,” Ilya repeats, a hand grabbing Shane by his hair, “then you don’t get to howl in the middle of the night,” Shane can’t help but offer a raised brow. “Oh c’mon, that’s not fair,” he complains, “you know I can’t control that!” or the one where Ilya is a vampire and Shane is a werewolf.
Of all the ways fate could have thrown them together, things happen through a dating app. Occult Finder, the latest in supernatural courting technology, matching all kinds of creatures with one another. Whether you’re a wizard, a ghost or even an alien, Occult Finder can set you up with your dream lover. It was even open to humans, well for those specifically looking to fulfill their fantasies of getting with a witch, maybe even seducing a mermaid, or in this case -
A vampire and a werewolf.
“So,” Shane Hollander sits across from Ilya Rozanov at the local supernatural bar run by a trio of half elves and half dwarves. It’s an upcoming hit spot for folks seeking to create cross-species relationships. “You ever date a werewolf before?” he wonders, observing the handsome vampire before him.
“Nope,” Ilya says, raising his glass of vodka to his lips. “First time,” he shrugs. “What about you? You ever date a vampire?” he smirks, shooting the same question back at the young werewolf.
“Not until tonight,” Shane reveals, sticking to his usual drink of choice, a trusty can of gingerale. “Is it true what they say, about you guys and the sunlight?” he suddenly quips.
At first, Ilya finds his naivety a tad annoying. How could he not know the most basic thing about his species? But, then, he noticed that there was just something about the glint in Shane’s eyes. It made his lack of knowledge weirdly charming. “Hmm, so not only have you never dated a vampire,” Ilya smiles. “But it seems that you’ve never spoken to one either.”
“Yeah sorry,” Shane nervously releases. “I lived most of my life in Ottawa, it’s mostly werewolf-town out there, not even many humans hang around anymore,” he explains.
“And, you’re in Montreal because?” Ilya asks.
“It’s a nice change,” Shane offers, taking a quick look around the bar and making note of the various scenes unfolding around him. “There’s all kinds of species out here, even the mermaids and fairies make an appearance every once in a while, or so I’ve heard anyway.”
It was true, Montreal did attract even the rarest and the most secretive of beings - Shane sees a sprite on a date with a siren taking over the table next to them. Up ahead, he notices a two headed wizard sitting with a cyclops. Even another pair similar to his, an ancient vampire and a young werewolf, were chatting at the booth behind them.
“Have you ever met a witch?” Ilya questions him, currently adoring the curious expression on Shane’s face.
“Oh I think so,” he nods. “Back in school, we had a teacher who taught the special abilities class who was a witch!” Shane exclaims.
“Well,” Ilya leans back into his chair. “My friend Svetlana is a pretty good one too, a witch I mean,” he adds on.
Shane blows a breath. “Wow,” he says. “You seem so…wordly.”
Ilya folds his arms around his chest. “I’ve lived for a thousand years,” he reminds him.
(And a thousand years it was, of countless lovers, and numerous different lives lived - once as a writer, another as an artist, even some time spent as a family man of a sort. Oh, but that was quite a long time ago, possibly even centuries).
“And yet,” Shane hums. “You still never dated a werewolf?” he quips.
Another smile adorns Ilya’s lips, then it’s followed by laughter.
“Guess you must be really special.”
-
So they make it back to Ilya’s condo and things are like this - a long and heavy make out session on his expensive velvet couch, with pulling, biting and even some scratching (courtesy of Shane’s wolfish tendencies). Followed by a swift movement thanks to vampire speed and they’re suddenly in the bedroom with Ilya’s hands against his. Shane is pressed into the mattress, silk sheets making it all the more difficult to maintain steadiness.
He gives in then, allowing the vampire to take the lead - not that he had ever lost that opportunity in the first place.
-
The morning after, Shane is restless.
Sex with a vampire was so…exhilarating. He felt like he hadn’t had such energy since the last time he won a game, he’s even up before Ilya gets a chance to crawl out of bed.
It made him realize that he didn’t even know that vampires could, in fact, sometimes sleep (if they really wanted to, that is).
“Heads up,” the young werewolf says. “I’m opening the curtains,” he announces, making the older vampire roll his eyes.
“Ah the sunlight thing again,” Ilya sighs. “We’ve adapted to it, maybe thousands of years ago it was a weakness for us vampires but not anymore,” he shares, while pulling his head off his pillow and finally managing to step out and put on some clothes.
Unlike Shane, sex with a werewolf had the opposite effect on Ilya - he found himself exhausted and tired, for the first time in years. Normally, he could go on for days, just making love and fucking like tomorrow has yet to come. But, somehow, being with a strong and powerful wolf with a body that just didn’t quit completely wore Ilya out.
“Oh, lucky for you then,” Shane responds, getting himself dressed as well. “Super fast, super strong, sharp teeth, living forever, what can’t you do?” he laughs, tying off the laces of his shoes and fixing up his hair.
“You are chatty,” Ilya comments, a smile forming at the corner of his lips. “The blood drinking thing, I don’t like, tastes strange still,” he admits.
“How does it work?” Shane wonders. “Do you just…attack humans?”
“No, of course not,” Ilya answers. “It was outlawed centuries ago - we have special access to hospitals, people donate their blood willingly, some for us, some for the patients,” he goes on with, which catches Shane off guard, yet again.
“I’m surprised that’s a thing,” the werewolf says.
“Well, it’s not free or anything,” Ilya shakes his head. “We buy it, like you buy food.”
“Oh, so like a grocery store for vampires?” Shane scoffs.
“Sort of,” the vampire shrugs.
He leads the other man to the door, noticing that he seemed like he clearly had somewhere else to be - perhaps a busy work day, maybe even university or college, heck he might even have to see friends or family - it made Ilya realize that despite all the questions Shane had for him, he had yet to ask any for Shane.
“Maybe, we could do this again sometime?” Ilya says, wondering if he might get his opportunity next time.
“Sure,” Shane tells him. “Why not?”
-
(When he’s on the ice, Hayden’s the one to point it out to him.
“Looks like you’ve got a hickey or something,” he notices.
“What?” Shane jerks his helmet off, trying to see his own neck.
“Oh wait,” Hayden added, approaching his fellow werewolf friend to take a closer look at the wound. “You hook up with some vampire chick Hollander?” he teases.
“I didn’t realize this was still there,” Shane blushes, covering the mark with his hand.
“It’s okay,” Hayden doesn’t stress it, especially since they were only at practice right now, and there were no cameras or crowds present. “There’s a cream for it, you can get it at the pharmacy,” he informs Shane.
“Good to know,” Shane nods. “I’m not going to…turn into a vampire or something am I?”
“Nah,” Hayden shakes his head. “That kind of thing only happens in movies,” he points out. “I think being a vampire is hereditary,” he continues.
“Oh, right,” Shane acknowledges, feeling a tad more relaxed.
“Just, next time,” Hayden places a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Do a bit more research,” he advises).
-
Ilya is with Svetlana when she figures it out.
“You smell like a dog,” she remarks, while they’re out on their weekly walk, hot coffee in hand.
“What are you talking about?” Ilya questioned, sipping his café latte.
“This scent,” she sniffs, twitching her nose. “It’s new, yes?” she says, sniffing again. “Maybe werewolf?”
“They have a smell?” Ilya says, looking puzzled. “How do you know that anyway?”
“I have sex with werewolf once, many years ago,” she confessed to him. “They are good lovers, but terrible to sleep next to,” Svetlana honestly spilled.
“Really?” Ilya raised a brow.
“Well you know,” his friend shrugged. “All the barking,” she giggled.
“Oh,” the vampire tried his best to recall if there were any unpleasantries like that that would cause him not to want to spend time with Shane again. He finds himself lost in thought - being unable to trade those sparkling eyes and freckled cheeks for anything else.
“You’re not going to tell me who he or she is?” Svetlana expressed.
The vampire thinks about it for a moment, but doesn’t manage to share his secret, just yet.
“Maybe,” he spoke coyly. “Someday,” Ilya hinted at, much to the witch’s dissatisfaction.
-
A few weeks pass before Ilya shows up at Shane’s window one night.
“Creepy,” he comments, unlocking the glass and slipping it to the side in order to allow the older vampire into his room.
Ilya smirks, looking around to notice how unkept his place was, especially when a surprise guest made an appearance. Undone laundry on the floor and dishes near his desk area, followed by his current attire - some bright green pajamas with a child’s cartoon as the pattern.
“You’re all I can think about,” Ilya reveals, inching closer.
“And, you couldn’t use the door like a normal person?” Shane asks, leaning back as the vampire pushes him into the bed, using a knee to nudge his legs apart.
“Ah but Shane,” Ilya sings. “Not a person, remember?” he whispers in his ear.
“Right,” Shane releases. “Or normal, for that matter,” he shoots back, propping himself up on his elbows.
Ilya finally kisses him - lips famished and filled with heat.
“Hollander, enough talk,” he mumbles, frustratingly. “I’m horny,” Ilya swoons, pulling Shane even closer.
-
He’s surprised he stays the night again, cuddling him close, of all things. Since their last encounter, Shane has learned a tad more about vampires and their resting habits. It turns out that it’s all leisure related and not at all a need for them. In short, Ilya had to enjoy it and he certainly had to be aware of it. Even the fact that his arms were closing in around Shane and keeping him in place, for most of the night, was something he had to be doing on purpose. None of it was subconscious, or an accident - and, for an undead vampire, he sure was warm.
Shane finds himself sleeping in - he’s not used to this feeling of lingering in bed. Normally, the werewolf is up early, sometimes even before the sun manages to make an appearance.
-
“Breakfast?”
But today was different. Ilya was standing in front of him with a plate of fried eggs, ham and toast in hand followed by a glass of orange juice.
“You made this?” Shane asked. “For me?” he adds.
The vampire looks around, seeming confused. “Anyone else here, Hollander?” he says.
“Well, thank you,” Shane tells him, taking the plate from him. “It looks good,” he shares.
“Tastes better,” Ilya offers. “Go on, eat,” he urges.
The werewolf decides to oblige and scarfs down his breakfast. Ilya sits at the edge of his bed with a soft gaze in his eyes - he watches Shane quickly finish his meal, satisfied with his lover’s approval of his cooking.
“I saw you on tv the other day,” Ilya quietly says. “You didn’t tell me you are big celebrity,” he reveals.
It's all true - Shane Hollander is indeed a world famous hockey player, the next upcoming Canadian all-star with all eyes on him. Award-wining even, with all the fame and fortune and then some.
“Oh, I didn’t think you watched hockey,” Shane shyly admits. “It’s not like I know what you do either,” he points out.
“Nothing,” Ilya shrugs.
“What do you mean?” Shane wonders.
The vampire releases a fond chuckle. “I’m a thousand years old, I’ve done it all,” he brags. “Now I just like to write, go to art galleries, have delicious food…” Ilya trails off, sounding very proud of his luxurious lifestyle.
“What about money?” Shane inquires.
“I am a vampire,” Ilya simply reminds him. “I compel people to do whatever I want, including giving me free things.”
“Oh, so compulsion is real then?” The werewolf notes. “No wonder,” he quietly murmured, making Ilya suddenly worry for a moment.
He wasn’t thinking that surely, any of their interactions were due to compulsion, or was he?
“Don’t worry Hollander,” Ilya chimes in. “I never compel my lovers, ruins the fun for me,” he smirks.
“I wasn’t thinking about that,” Shane argues. “And we are not lovers,” he makes a point to say, knowing fully well that he was lying to himself.
-
(The third time is when Shane rushes to Ilya’s after winning a game.
“No biting this time,” Shane warns, a finger held up to Ilya’s lips. “I’m tired of constantly applying that gross vampire ointment.” he explains, making the other man smirk.
“If I don't get to bite,” Ilya repeats, a hand grabbing Shane by his hair, “then you don’t get to howl in the middle of the night,” Shane can’t help but offer a raised brow.
“Oh c’mon, that’s not fair,” he complains, “you know I can’t control that!”)
-
When Shane is away, Ilya copes by watching all his matches, his interest in hockey increases - he trades his evening strolls through museums for nights spent in sports bars. He even gets himself a Montreal Metros jersey and rocks it while buying tickets to his lover’s home games. Ilya eats a hot dog and drinks local beer, he cheers Shane on from the sidelines along with Svetlana who wears some deep shades and eyes the werewolf’s swift movements on the ice.
Shane notices them, and for some reason, he feels more flattered than annoyed.
-
It’s months later when he finds time to see his favorite vampire again.
Things change within that time period - it’s no longer simply passion and heat, it’s kindness from their many late night phonecalls, sprees of messages back and forth, as well as even hand written letters, all thanks to the vampire’s ancient tendencies and the werewolf’s soft romantic side falling for it all.
“I love you, Shane,” Ilya says, one night when they’re on a grassy hill, watching the stars together and holding hands.
“I love you too, Ilya,” Shane returns.
-
Shane can’t stop staring - he knows he’s being rude, even worse, obvious, but he can’t help it. Ilya is nothing like the kind of creature he had expected himself to ever end up with. For ages, he presumed that maybe, he’d be mated to another female wolf, or even a male human if he got a bit more adventurous.
But, never in his wildest dreams, he could predict this - the gentle and loving arms of a thousand year old vampire who promised him the world and more.
“So what happens now?” Shane worried, as he nuzzled his head into Ilya’s neck.
“You go to game,” Ilya suggested. “I wait for you to finish so we can fuck again,” he smirks, a hand playing with Shane’s hair. “Same as usual,” he casually says, which does not meet Shane’s needs at all.
“Ilya, be serious,” the werewolf orders. “I told you I love you, but I know I won’t live forever like you,” he insists.
It was all so sorrowful - the nature of their connection was fragile and fleeting and yet, they both yearned for it.
“Yes it is true,” Ilya confesses. “This is the most tragic part about being a vampire,” he admits, feeling his voice quiver.
Shane’s throat begins to hurt, almost as though it was closing in.
“Do you ever get used to it?” he gulps, holding back tears. “People dying on you?”
Ilya shakes his head - thinking of his mother, his father, even his brother and niece. Old friends and lovers alike. “I want to say yes,” he sobs. “But, the truth is, it’s always hard.”
Shane holds him even tighter as they both begin to cry quietly. The weight of it all had finally gotten to them, there was just so much to say and so little time to experience it all.
“I don’t want to make you sad, ever,” the werewolf whispers, with a kiss to the vampire’s lips.
“It is a part of life Shane,” Ilya says. “It’s worth it even if I get to experience only one lifetime with you,” he wraps his fingers around Shane’s chin and tilts his head up.
-
(Eventually, it does happen - Shane grows old and Ilya looks after him. He accompanies him to medical appointments, helps him wash and bathe himself, he feeds him the meals suitable for an aging wolf, and reminds him to stay on top of his health needs. When Shane Hollander does pass away, he is at peace, knowing that he had the amazing opportunity to love and to be loved by Ilya Rozanov.
