futurePOTUS

My life has a superb cast but I can't figure out the plot



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    The command had sliced through him like a knife, and Shane had very nearly opened his mouth. It didn’t just paralyse his jaw, his entire body locked up, shock rippling through him.

    No matter how many comments were made, neither of them had ever been so evil as to order him so directly. Not since-

    But then Ilya Rozanov had tackled both of them to the ground, flinging his entire body weight at them, skates flying into the air.

    -

    AU where Shane just wants to play hockey but biology and shitty teammates make it nearly impossible. Ilya just wants to have some good competition on the ice. They make it work (eventually).

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    05 Feb 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    It’s him. On the shirt. 

    Not a jersey, not something from a commercial he did, it’s… several pictures of him, put together into a collage—it’s… not ugly, he supposes, but it’s abundantly clear it’s not a shirt Ilya got from any professional event or campaign. It’s just Shane’s face, five, six times over—one is his official headshot for the NHL, some other photos he remembers, some he has no idea where they came from. Above is his name and jersey number. 

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    Ilya’s blood has always run hotter than Shane's.

    Or: Yay Hollanov free use! Everybody cheered!

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  4. Public Bookmark *

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    After a mysterious serum leaves him painfully, constantly aroused, Shane is in desperate need of relief. He turns to his coach who offers a very hands-on solution: daily ‘sessions’ to help Shane's game. Shane, ever-obedient and blissfully oblivious, agrees. What starts as innocent coaching quickly spirals into something much filthier, as Shane discovers he can come from his nipples alone—and that he'll do anything to hear Ilya call him a good boy.

    (Or: The one where Shane is an oblivious, nipple-sensitive slut, Ilya is a possessive coach with a plan, and it's definitely, definitely about improving Shane's hockey game.)

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  5. Public Bookmark *

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    The thing about sex with Ilya Rozanov is that Shane can’t chill out about it.

    The predator that lurks under his skin is unable to settle, fighting endlessly against his hands, his touch, the feeling of his fingers curling at the nape of his neck. It's always a fight, even when Shane tries to be good, some sharp-tongued creature stirring in his chest, his instincts fired up and honed on the ice.

    Ilya, he thinks, enjoys it.

    OR: Shane's rut arrives. So does his bloodthirstiness. And, even worse, his honesty.

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    28 Jan 2026