impalafeathers



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    Sometimes life came at you with a clenched fist and Ilya had never figured out how to duck.

    So here he was, twenty-eight years old, single, dealing with the fallout from injuries given to him by the game he loved, and the second youngest assistant coach in the league to one of the worst teams. Stability was hard to come by, but he was managing.

    Then along came Shane Hollander to knock him on his ass, one more time.

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    21 Feb 2026

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    It’s perhaps the sweetest Svetlana has ever known Ilyusha to be. She has always been granted access to the more affectionate side of Ilyusha, the one that he rarely shows to anyone else, but it was never anything compared to this. This tenderness, this adoration, that he gives so freely to Shane. It’s like her best friend is a completely different person right now, and she starts to wonder if maybe she was wrong earlier.

    Maybe, instead of being too boring for Ilyusha, perhaps Shane Hollander is giving him the space to become something soft. Something without walls, or masks, or armour.

    (Or, 5 times people doubt their love for each other, and 1 time they are certain of it.)

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    17 Feb 2026

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    “Don’t go,” Ilya manages to choke out, burying his face under Shane’s chin and squeezing his eyes shut. He inhales sharply, pressing his nose deeper into Shane’s throat to breathe in his scent. Right now, it’s Ilya’s body soap, vanilla and spice, masked under salt and skin. He inhales it like it's his own personal supply of air, what he needs to extinguish the burning in his lungs.

    “Ilya,” Shane says, voice urgent, “you’re shaking, I—your breathing’s too fast—” He tries to pull back, needs to see Ilya’s face, needs to see what’s wrong, but Ilya just shakes his head and clings tighter.

    “Please don’t go, Shane,” Ilya whispers, pleading. I’m sorry, please don’t go, don’t go—  

    OR: ilya and shane accidentally recreate the tuna-melt day, and ilya realizes just how much old wounds hurt.

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    16 Feb 2026

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    When Shane first notices in the locker room showers, he’s having about six different crises at the same time that he’s trying not to get caught looking anywhere near Rozanov’s dick, so it doesn’t really register all the way.

    It’s not until he’s watching Rozanov move up the bed that Shane’s eyes snag again on the scars littering his upper thighs and he realises what they are: self-inflicted.


    Or: they’re both a little less terrible at having feelings for their rival-with-benefits, Shane grows more comfortable with letting some rules change, and Ilya grows more comfortable with opening up to Shane.

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    06 Feb 2026

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    “Ilya,” he breathes into Shane's open, slightly panting mouth. Shane jostles their position, pointing his thumb at his own chest in an exaggerated manner.

    “Shane,” he replies. Quietly, like it's a request, not a statement. Ilya's eyes gentle, and he kisses Shane's nose.

    “Shane.”

    Or: another "Shane stays post-tuna melt scene" fic.

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    05 Feb 2026