Kittykat347



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    “Ilya,” Shane says warningly, but he’s too late as the grin unfurls across Ilya’s face. “I said no laughing,” he snaps, glaring at him. “You’re laughing.”

    Ilya shakes his head. “Is not at you, sweetheart,” he says, unable and unwilling to stop his beaming. “I am just—happy. To share this with you.” He meets Shane’s eyes. “You are—singularity,” he says, careful with his pronunciation. “My favorite.”

    Shane goes red so fast, Ilya worries about his heart for a second.

    “I just want to know you,” Shane murmurs, closing his eyes when Ilya lifts his hand up and strokes through his hair. “I miss you when you aren't around, and I want to carry the little bits of you I can.”

    OR: Shane has some questions. Ilya always seems to have an answer. (And one time, Ilya has a question, too.)

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    25 Feb 2026

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    Shane’s fingertips lazily trace down the middle of his back, and then tap their way back up. Ilya wants to die here.

    “If you could be any animal,” Shane asks, yawning in the middle of the sentence, “what animal would you be?”

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    24 Feb 2026

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    In the days leading up to the first time Shane Hollander faces his old Montreal team with the Ottawa Centaurs, he kinda goes through it. Maybe a lot of bullshit built up over the years. Maybe now that he's finally in a place to deal with it, he starts to.

    Featuring my beloved Centaurs taking care of their own, a couple of very early mornings, a minor meltdown at practice, a slightly bigger meltdown at a barbecue, and one Shane Hollander finally coming home.

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    24 Feb 2026

  4. Public Bookmark 73

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    “We’ll leave you alone,” he says at the same time Harris says, “You two should join us.”

    At once, Ilya and Troy reply, “What?”

     

    ~*~*~*~*~*~

    Shane and Ilya have a date night—and run into Troy and Harris.

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    24 Feb 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Two years of playing together, and it still hit him every time. The casualness of it. My husband. Said out loud, in public. After years of hiding—stolen moments in hotel rooms, careful distance in public, the constant exhausting performance of just teammates, just rivals, nothing to see here—now Ilya could say it like it was nothing. Like it was easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

    Because it was. Finally.

    In which Ilya Hollander-Rozanov cannot shut up about his husband. (Subtitled: No one asked, Ilya. Ilya. No one asked.)

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    24 Feb 2026